A Thousand Moments
by RighterB
Summary: Modern AU in which Mary is a grad student in Chicago and Matthew is a hedge fund investor/ part-time lawyer/ multi-millionaire who is in need of a nanny to care for his 5 year old daughter. Romance and Angst ensue in this multi-chapter story. Long time reader, first time author.
1. Chapter 1

Mary loved Chicago. She loved the heartbeat of the city and how, when she walked its streets, she felt alive. She was sure that as long as this city was the backdrop of her daily life, she would be happy no matter what. Of course the beautiful day helped elevate her mood even more than normal. Nothing could be better than a beautiful late spring day in Chicago. Chicago's winters were harsh so the first day it was over 60 degrees out, nearly everyone in the city could be found outside. They were out in shorts and t-shirts barbequing with friends and family, walking their dogs, playing with their little ones at the park, or aimlessly wandering the city just so they could be out enjoying the day.

Mary was one of the many walking the sidewalks of Lincoln Park today, enjoying the sunshine and 72 degree weather. However, unlike the many others that looked to be just out enjoying the beautiful Saturday morning, Mary had a destination and corresponding appointment to get to. She was headed toward the redline stop at Fullerton that would take her into downtown Chicago. The walk to the L-train stop was a short distance from her apartment and the ride downtown was only 15 minutes, and so, Mary spent the short commute trying to calm her nerves.

For most of her closest university friends, stress was a thing of the recent past. Finals were over for them all last week and now most of her friends' worries revolved around when they would sober up for the day so they could start drinking again. She had gone out with them to celebrate the end of term the previous weekend, and had woken up last Sunday with a blistering headache, sour breath, and a thick tongue, but Mary was not one to party every night just because it was summer break and she could. No, after the required celebratory weekend where she racked up at least a hundred dollar bar tab Friday night and a two-hundred dollar bar tab Saturday night (why did she think it necessary to buy all of Napier's drinks and several rounds of shots), Mary immediately started looking for another job.

She had to have a job. She was not like many of her other friends whose parents supported them throughout school. Not that her parents wouldn't if they could, but they simply could not afford to while she went to school in the city. Thank God, she received academic scholarships for both undergrad and grad school, but she still had to pay for living expenses. Sure, she could have taken student loans to live off of but she couldn't stomach the idea of paying 8% interest when she could work instead. And so, up until a month ago, she had been working as a nanny and going to school for 6 of the past 7 years.

She had worked for three different families over the past seven years. She worked for the Roth's from age 18 to 19, for the Little's from age 19 to 22, and the McKinney's from age 23 to 25. She was an excellent nanny and would have loved to keep working for the McKinney's until she finished her masters in a year's time, but Nick McKinney was transferred to another city a little over a month ago. She hated to see the family go. Both Nick and Sarah were excellent, hard working, and caring parents and their seven-year-old twin boys, Sam and Scott, were sweet and loving. She had been their summer and afterschool nanny for a little under two years and missed them all terribly. Both boys and Mary cried nearly the entire last day they spent together.

The McKinney's had left a few weeks before Mary's final papers were due and she decided to wait until the end of term before trying to find another family. She had worked for the same nanny agency since she was 18 and thus had a good relationship with the people there. So, when Darcy, her favorite coordinator at the agency, telephoned her a couple days ago and told her that she had another family for her to interview with, one that would pay more than double of any of her other families, Mary was ecstatic. The agency had her resume and recommendations from her previous families already available for the prospective new family to look over, so the over the phone interview two days ago with a close associate of the family, not the actual mother or father, was fairly straight forward. When was she available? Monday through Friday in the summer, from two in the afternoon to nine at night in the evening during the school year, holidays would be discussed when they came round. Was she willing to stay the night and work weekends if need be? Would rather not, but could be open for negotiation. Was she able to remain discreet? Yes. (Who were these people?) Would she require transportation? No. (Were they willing to buy her a car?) And other basic interview questions. The associate, an older sounding female, seemed to like what Mary had to say because she wanted to know if Mary could come over that coming Saturday to meet the child, a five-year-old girl, tour the home, meet the family, and, if all went well, sign a year's contract. Mary agreed and set an appointment for ten in the morning that coming Saturday.

It was 9:30 as Mary took her set on the underground subway train. It would be a fifteen-minute ride to her stop at Monroe and a five-minute walk to The Pearl at Millennium Park. She had seen The Pearl many times on her numerous trips to visit Millennium and Grant Park over the years. It was an enormous, all glass skyscraper that held offices, banquet halls, a hotel, luxury apartments and several penthouses, one of which would be her final destination. She had certainly never worked for quite as wealthy of a family before, even though all of her previous employers had been very well off. The Little's, the wealthiest of the three families, had been worth about 25 million but they could have never afforded a penthouse in downtown Chicago. Mary wondered what this Crawley family did. Was it family money? Were they entrepreneurs? Or perhaps they were famous, but she, Mary, was so out of touch with everything that wasn't European History or the fascinations of small children, that she wouldn't have known it.

When she arrived in front of The Pearl twenty minutes later, her nerves had still not settled. She was unsure why she was so nervous. Was it because all of the money on the table? The Crawley family was willing to pay her over double what she was making previously and with that amount of money, not only would she easily be able to pay her bills and have fun with her friends, but also really be able to add to her small, but still existent, savings. Or was it because she didn't know what to expect from this family? She had always done the first phone interview with a parent and, therefore, knew the type of family she was going to encounter once she entered their home. The older woman whom she interviewed with was very professional, kind, and unintimidating; however, the associate, who went by the name of Ms. Hughes, had made it very clear to Mary that she was not going to be Mary's employer, nor would Mary be working in her home. Mary had never gone on a secondary interview so in the dark. Or was it because Mary was just simply weary to get settled with a new family and do the final big push until she was able to graduate? Just one more year until she could start her "big girl job." Why oh why, couldn't have the McKinney's stayed just one more year?

As Mary looked up the tall, all glass façade of the western side of The Pearl, a crushing sense of inadequacy rushed over her. What was she doing at a place like this? She was so below these types of people, with there Fortune Five-Hundred sized bank accounts, entourages, trust funds, and no-limit credit cards. She was a girl from Southern Illinois. A girl from a town of two-thousand and the only one she knows of, besides her two sisters, that has left the county lines for more than a weeks vacation. She was not poor, but her family was the very essence of middle class. Her father was a small-time farmer and varsity football coach; her mother was a high school English teacher. She was sure this Crawley family would take one look at her and decided that she was not the right type of person to play such an integral role in the raising of their child. But Mary needed this job. Darcy didn't say that any other families were looking for a nanny that fit her school schedule.

With a sinking heart, Mary closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. The third time a large amount of oxygen left her lungs, she felt a wonderful cool breeze come off Lake Michigan and ruffle her ponytail. With her eyes still closed, she turned her body to the east and felt the warm sun across her face and smiled at how it warmed her lips so pleasantly. She then opened her eyes and saw the life, the heartbeat, of the city around her. Immediately, like emerging from dark, icy water, the heavy weight on her chest lifted. With this stage, this city, this world, how could one not be optimistic about the future? The people who lived in The Pearl were the minority in this world and people like her, ones who studied hard, worked hard, and played hard, were the majority. Mary knew that life was full of a thousand different defining moments that could change her entire existence completely, and if this was not one of those moments, then she would go out and look for the next one. She would be fine if she didn't get the job. She was young and smart and attractive. She had the same dark brown hair and smooth, fair skin as her mother, her grandfather's dark, nearly black, eyes and full eye-lashes, pink lips, and a tall and lean, dancer like, body. She had always able to find something and this time would be no different. Who cares if the Crawley's found her inadequate? She knew that it would be their loss in the end. She was good at what she did and she knew that, so who cared if the Crawley's were too pretentious to see it.

With that self-assurance and mini pep talk on her mind, she entered The Pearl with her head held high and a small smile on her face. She walked straight up the front desk where there was a young man who was probably not much older than she was. He wore a black suit and tie that matched his slicked down black hair and had a red name badge pined to his lapel that read, "Welcome to The Pearl, my name is Thomas," written in haughty, barely legible cursive. When he noticed her approach, he put down his pen and gave her a small, clearly forced smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Hello Ma'am, and welcome to The Pearl. What can I assist you with today?"

"Hello, my name is Mary Crawley and I have a 10 o'clock appointment with a Ms. Hughes," Mary responded with the same newly acquired confidence.

"Ah, yes. Ms. Hughes said that you would be calling this morning," Thomas responded blandly and continued by asking, "You're interviewing for the nanny position?"

"Yes I am. I know I'm a little early. I hope it's alright?"

"Of course ma'am," Thomas responded with the same forced kindness. "Could I please see a photo ID?" Thomas must have read Mary's confusion and explained while a slight edge of irritation, "It's for security purposes since you are going up to one of the penthouses. Security for our members is of the upmost importance. If you get the job, all lobby and security staff will be notified and you will be issued a Pearl ID with a set of key cards that will gain you access to the private elevators and the Crawley penthouse its self," Thomas explained coolly.

"Oh ok," Mary responded now that she understood. She turned slightly to retrieve her driver's license from her black leather satchel bag, which was swung around on her left hip. She felt Thomas's eyes on her while she rummaged through her bag but when she turned back to him, license in hand, he had only the same cool and aloof smile for her. She handed him her license all while starting to feel the same insecurity she felt outside creep back in on her. Thomas grabbed it quickly from her grasp, laid it face down on a scanner, and pushed a series of buttons, nearly in the same motion. Mary heard the slow progress of the scanner and started looking around the vast lobby for something to do. It was decorated mostly in black marble with gold and pearl colored accents and it had more than several large tropical looking plants, set into enormous red pots.

"So," Thomas started, and Mary turned back to look at him, "a Miss Mary Crawley to see Mr. Crawley. Are you related to Mr. Crawley?" Thomas asked it in a way that made Mary feel like he wasn't inquiring to make small talk, but rather just to be nosey.

"No we are not," Mary's response was short but she still said in a more or less friendly manner. She wasn't often rude to people just because they were less than kind to her. 'Kill 'em kindness,' her mother always told her, and so that was how Mary tried to live her life. It might be a very 'country' and naïve principle for her to act by, especially in a large city, but it had worked for her so far in life.

"We, the staff that is, figured you'd be related to Mr. Crawley once we saw your name on the call sheet this morning. Especially seeing as how the girl's last care taker had been Mr. Crawley's mother," Thomas replied.

"No. It's just a coincidence I assure you," Mary replied confidently hopefully putting a stop to his questions. True, even she had wondered once Darcy had told her the family name of the people she would be interviewing with. Mary guessed that Crawley was a fairly common name; sure it wasn't Smith or Jones, but she couldn't expect to be related to every other Crawley in the country. However, she did call home and asked her dad if they were related to any other Crawley's in the Chicago area and he assured her that they were not. When she questioned him about it again, he responded by saying, "Mary, I think we would know if we were related to a multi-millionaire who owned a penthouse in downtown Chicago. I'm sure your mother would tell everyone that she met." Mary couldn't argue with that logic.

Mary saw Thomas type a few things on the keyboard and click his computer mouse a few more times, before he handed her license back to her. Mary quickly returned it to her bag and saw Thomas signal to someone across the room. A moment later another tall young man was standing next to her. He was blonde and dress in a red jacket with gold trimming and a black bowtie.

"William, could you please escort Ms. Crawley to the Crawley penthouse?" Thomas asked William, and continued by explaining, "She is here to interview for the nanny position."

"Of course," William responded to Thomas, who then turned to Mary and said while holding his arm out in from of him, "Right this way ma'am."

Mary offered a quite thank you and corresponding smile to Thomas before she turned to follow William, who was making his way to the elevators in the middle of the lobby.

"It was a pleasure ma'am," Thomas responded coolly, "and good luck." The way he said 'good luck' troubled Mary slightly. He said it with just a hint of sarcasm and a heavy dose of haughtiness. However, she quickly brushed off his comment, hardly having room in her brain and gut to worry about what Thomas thought of her, when she had to worry about what the Crawley's perception of her would be. Never the less, she remained cognizant of Thomas's eyes on her as she followed William to a small but luxurious elevator slightly removed to the left of the other, larger elevators. Her suspensions were confirmed as she turned around to face the entrance of the elevator car, and saw Thomas's judging eyes on her from where he stood behind the long, black marble lobby desk. She saw him tilt his head to the left and give her one last cool smirk before the doors closed him out.

Mary saw William bend, insert and retract a shiny, all black key card, and press one of the only seven buttons inside the elevator. The back lighting behind the button labeled 'P5' glowed red and after a seconds pause Mary felt the elevator rush upwards at an alarming rate. Her stomach dropped for a second but her body quickly acclimated its self to the rate she was going. The elevator was quite and Mary took advantage of her last moments to calm herself. She took a deep, controlled breath, and adjusted her blazer and high ponytail. She wore a white V-neck fitted tee underneath her navy blue blazer, skinny dark wash blue jeans, nude pumps, and "diamond" studded silver hoop earnings.

"Nervous ma'am?" William asked kindly.

"Is it that obvious?" Mary responded in a higher, slightly trembling voice as she turned slightly to look up at William. He chuckled once and offered her a warm, large closed mouth grin. Where Thomas's presence had made her feel on edge and inadequate, William's made her feel comfortable and relaxed. Seeing Williams large smile, Mary could only smile herself and let out a nervous little laugh. Just then she felt the elevator slow and a moment later come to a complete stop. She allowed her self one more controlled deep breath, just as the elevator doors opened with a small 'ping' sound. Mary offered William a quite thank you and started walking towards a large set of dark wooden double doors at the end of a short dimly lit corridor.

"Good luck, ma'am," William called after her and she turned to give him a parting smile. There was nothing forced or faked about Williams remark or corresponding smile, and she once again found her mood lifted by his sincere kindness. She had know William for all of two minutes and she already knew that if, by some small miracle, she got the job, they would be friends. She returned his warm smile just as the elevator closed around him and Mary was left totally alone. Without William's presence, the crushing weight of anxiety found her chest again. She wanted William with her again: heck, she would have even gladly taken Thomas at this point. Another large breath of air filled her lungs again and as she exhaled, Mary made herself start walking the rest of the way down the corridor.

Within less than 10 paces she found herself in front of the large double doors. She adjusted her ponytail, straighten her blazer, swung her bag around to where it rested against her backside, raised her right hand and gave two loud knocks. She dropped her hand back by her side and took more steadying, controlled breaths. By the third time Mary exhaled she heard slight shuffling on the other side of the door. The shuffling soon turned into audible footsteps that got progressively louder with each step and a moment later there was the sound, directly on the other side of the door, of someone undoing a series of locks. As the door swung open all and a bright light hit her making her squint, all Mary could think of was whether or not this would be one of her defining moments.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary's eyes slowly adjust to the assault of light coming from inside the open door. She immediately plastered a large, opened mouthed smile across her face, and adjusted her body to its fullest height, hoping to portray a confidence that she did not feel.

"Hello," said a disembodied voice to the doors immediate left. The voice belonged to a young female, and as Mary's pupils finally adjusted to the brightness, the dark, blurred outline of the person holding the door open to her finally came into focus. The voice belonged to a tiny, blonde haired woman who stood just inside the doorway wearing a black long sleeved tee, faded boot-cut jeans, and Nike running shoes. Gazing upon this woman, who could only be slightly older she was, Mary no longer felt so entirely out of place. The woman must have been Mrs. Crawley because Mary was sure that the woman she had done her primary interview with was much older. Mrs. Crawley had a small but warm smile on her face and was looking at Mary expectantly. It was then that Mary realized that she hadn't returned the woman's greeting.

Hoping that not too much time had passed, Mary responded with a rather rushed and fairly loud, "Hello." Mary took in an exasperated breath, mentally telling herself to steady her voice, held out her hand and continued, "I'm Mary Crawley and it's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Crawley."

The woman in front of her burst into laughter at Mary's greeting, and immediately looked over her shoulder to someone behind her, deeper inside the penthouse. This sudden outburst stopped Mary in her tracks. She dropped her outstretched arm and flexed her fingers feeling as if they were all made of lead. At first she was stunned into silence, but she swiftly recovered by chuckling a little along with the woman, as if she was in on her joke. Mary was still standing in the doorway and tried to lean around the laughing woman to get a glimpse of whoever was behind her. Mary caught a brief glance of an older looking woman, dressed similarly to the woman in front of her, before she stood straight again.

After several uncomfortable moments for Mary, the mystery woman's hysterical laughter calmed to just a few low, dispersed chuckles. "I'm sorry but what a laugh," the woman said to a bewildered Mary. She continued with a huge smile on her face, "Me, Mr. Crawley's wife…" again looking to the woman behind her, "Ha…what an idea," she then finished her joke with a few final chuckles. The woman must have seen the obvious confusion and anxiety on Mary's face and apologized, "I am truly sorry. I'm Anna." She stretched out her arm to shake Mary's trembling and, hopefully not too clammy, hand. Anna continued explaining, "I'm one of Mr. Crawley's housekeepers." She then stepped further to the side, smiled welcomingly, held the heavy looking door open wider, and beckoned to Mary, "Please do come in."

Mary said a soft thank you and stepped inside the enormous room. Her eyes were assaulted once more, though this time not from brightness, from the sheer grandeur of the room she found herself in and its accompanying view. The walls were made nearly entirely of glass that stretched from its polished wooden floors to its fifteen-foot high ceilings. The glass walls made for a picturesque view of Lake Michigan as it lay, stretched, aqua-blue against the horizon for as far as her eyes could see. At this height, clearly seeing how enormous the body of water was, Mary questioned that she was looking at a land-locked lake. Surely, this enormous mass of water, dotted with hundreds of sailboats, must be an undiscovered ocean. Mary idly wondered if she could name it since she was the one to discover it. From her depth inside the penthouse she was only able to see the lake and the bright clear sky above it freckled with the occasional thin, wispy cloud, but she knew, if she were to get closer to the windows and look down by her feet, she would see the green vastness that is both Millennium and Grant Park, filled on this beautiful Saturday with families, friends, lovers, and pets.

Knowing that she only had a few more moments before Anna would expect to get on with the purpose of her being there, Mary tore her eyes from the view out the window to drink in the room she stood in. This one space was easily twice the size of her entire apartment, and Mary soon realized its vastness was because this room, which looked to be both a living and entertaining area, stretched the entire eastern side of The Pearl of whatever floor in the sky she was on. Another sudden, albeit obvious, realization hit Mary, 'these people owned an entire floor in a Chicago skyscraper, and they just slept and ate in it.' She chuckled softly at her awful joke.

From where she stood, just inside the doors entrance, the great expanse of the room was laid before her. To her right was a series of couches and chairs arranged in a square around a shiny black, ping-pong sized coffee table on which laid a brushed-metal sculpture that looked to be a female form holding child form, though it was hard to be certain given its abstract design and her distance from it. The chairs and couches were low to the floor and block shaped, with angular, hard lines. They were all a dark, charcoal grey and had a variety of green and deep purple throw pillows placed on them in a haphazard but pleasing way. The furniture was modern and elegant but did not strike Mary as being either very welcoming or comfortable. She compared them to the large couch that Edith and Sybil had bought for their apartment last summer, and how, when Mary saw it sitting in a dusty corner of the stores sales floor, she felt the immediate desire to curl up on its dark leather and take a nap. The Crawley's grey, block furniture did not recreate those warm and fuzzy feelings in Mary, but perhaps, she reasoned, that was the exact desired affect. Deeper into the right side of the room, placed in the southeastern corner of the glass walls, was a polished black, Grand piano. It was arranged in a way so that the player, when he or she sat down at its bench, would have an unblocked view of Lake Michigan. This image did elicit a very deep and alluring desire within Mary. She wanted to run a hand across its lid to judge its polish and see if the finish was truly as perfect as it appeared to be. She wanted to feel the cool ivory beneath her fingers and play a composition that would enlighten the hearts of thousands, because what else but true, heavenly beauty could come from such an instrument while it was placed in such a setting.

The room was divided down the middle by a black marble, double-sided, gas burning fireplace and another, though vastly larger, brushed metal sculpture. The piece was sat upon a two-foot tall black marble pedestal and was, undoubtedly, a rendering of the female form. The sculpture was about the same size as Mary and looked to be made out of one single, long piece of metal that was shaped, lengthened, and turned back on itself in a series of angles and bends to create the an obvious depiction of a female in mid-stride. A single spotlight, hung from the ceiling, casting a light that added even greater depth to its already three-dimensional form. This statue and the one of the coffee table were breath taking and obviously made by the same, extremely gifted, artist but all Mary could really think of was how easily a playing five-year old could hit her head on its corners.

The left, northeastern side, of the massive room was centered around a gorgeous billiards table. It had polished, thick wooden legs, and a wine red, velvet top. Mary was sure that this table, a board game for adults really, was twice as expensive as her first…and second cars combined. Set in the corner was a stunning, all wooden bar that made the tavern she most often frequented, Bates' Pub, look like a dive. She was sure John would sell his soul to have his bar look half as good as the Crawley's did. It was at least twelve feet long and though Mary couldn't see that was stored on the other side, she was sure it held a variety of wines and liquors that she would never have the pleasure, or corresponding bank account, to taste. There were six high top chairs sat in front of the bar's glossy wooden frame, and each chair was cushioned with the same wine colored velvet that adorned the billiards table. Mary even noticed a small virtual poker game at the far left end of the bar, and absentmindedly wondered if it accepted anything smaller than one hundred dollar bills. She doubted that her thirteen dollars in cash would go very far.

Taking in the room and all of its refined glory, Mary couldn't help the small, breathless, "Wow," that escaped her lips. After all, she had seen only one-forth of this castle in the sky.

"I know," Anna responded just as breathlessly. Mary turned her head and watched as Anna drank in the beauty of the atmosphere. Anna's eyes slowly wandered across the space before her, occasionally focusing on something for the briefest of moments, before moving on. Once she had looked her fill, Anna turned back to Mary and gave her a small, embarrassed smile and a slight shrug of her right shoulder. For some reason, it comforted Mary to know that working in this atmosphere of extreme wealth and visual beauty had not, yet, left Anna jaded.

Suddenly, Mary heard the sound of footsteps coming from somewhere to her left. The heavy footsteps, making their way towards the large living room in which she stood, soon became accompanied by a disembodied, male voice. Mary could not make out what was being said but the sound of the voice demanded her attention. It was low, rich, and devastatingly smooth. The pitch and tenor of the voice was like an old song, and Mary was instantly transported back to a time when her life was endlessly more carefree. It was the kind of voice that belonged in luxury car commercials or narrating a James Bond book. Mary, Anna, and the unknown older woman, all turned to look in the direction of the footfalls and deep murmurings, growing closer and closer with each passing second.

Then, stepping out from behind an unseen opening in the back interior wall to the far left, a man emerged clutching a cell phone to his right ear. He must not have noticed the three women standing the room he had just entered, because he immediately turned his back to them and looked out the glass windows facing northern city skyline, silently listening to whomever was on the other side of the line.

'So this was Mr. Crawley,' Mary thought to herself. She surmised that he was just over six foot tall and, though she had only briefly glanced the right side of his face, easily under the age of thirty. Mary was surprised to find that a multi-millionaire would wear his hair in such a tousled manner. His thick, dirty blonde hair was parted to the side and slightly slicked back, but it still hung lose in a way that made it look like it was still soft and pliable. Mary's suspicions were confirmed as he raised his unoccupied left hand and brushed his fingers back across his scalp in a slightly exasperated fashion. The hair underneath his hand rippled and waved easily, but went back to where it originally laid after the pass of his fingers. However, his hair was the only thing Mary could notice on him that seemed to have an air of carelessness. He wore a deep black suit that Mary could tell, just by looking at the back of, was tailor made just for him. No doubt it was Versace or Ralph Lauren. His black dress shoes were perfectly polished, and surely, as Mary noticed him tapping his right foot impatiently, also made, one of a kind, just for his millionaire feet. Once more he raised his left hand to make another pass through his hair. This time, Mary noticed he wore a beautifully made, large faced, silver…no…surely all white gold watch, which slid slightly down his wrist as he reached up to his scalp. Mary was busy deciding whether the background of the watch's face was a light blue or silver, when he suddenly pivoted on his right foot to face the three women.

Mary let a small, inaudible gasp as Mr. Crawley immediately locked eyes with her. Her dark brown eyes fixed on his, crystal blue. He started at her so intently that Mary felt as if she should look away, shamed by his direct stare, but found that she was unable to sever the connection. His glare was hard and intense; her stare was direct and eager. Even, if she could look away from his face, Mary was undoubtedly sure that she did not want to. There was something in his expression that she recognized in her own reflection occasionally. Was it pain? Insecurity? Unfulfillment? A lack of passion? She drank in his face hungrily, wanting to discover the emotion at play behind it. There had to be at least thirty feet separating them, but the short distance made no difference on the intensity with which they gazed upon one another. While locked in his stare, Mary was sure that the world could crumble into ruins, the oceans could run dry, or the floor under her feet could fall out beneath her, and she would not notice until the final blow was struck. His mouth opened slightly as his jaw relaxed under her gaze, and, a moment later, as if speaking directly to Mary across the room, he let out a clear, and confidant, "Yes." He exhaled completely as he spoke the word, so it felt as if it were a sweet caress. That he spoke made only a small impression on Mary as his icy blue eyes still bore deeply into hers, as if searching for the start of her soul.

Then, as quickly as his eyes had found hers in the vast room, he broke the connection, turned his head slightly, and looked at the ground to his right. The movement looked is if were done out of shame and Mary felt an overwhelming sadness in the pit of her stomach. At the sudden lose of this gaze, Mary blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear something that had clouded her vision, and took in several choked breaths. Had the floor fallen out from under her after all? Just then Mary remembered that Mr. Crawley was on a cell-phone and was only answering the person on the other side of the line. How stupid she felt. She must have surely been imagining the intensity behind his stare. Mary cast her eyes down to her feet and felt her face burn hotly. She heard Mr. Crawley utter a few more things in to his cell phone, and, just as Mary lifted her head to look at him once more, he turned and left the room through the same way he had entered. As a last resort, with a breaking heart, she desperately tried to listen to his descending footsteps. Tragically though, she only heard them grow fainter and fainter the further and further he walked away from her.

Mary suddenly felt like leaving too, not out of shame for staring at him so boldly or sadness at his absence, but just because she felt that there was simply no point in staying. Whatever the ethereal bond was that held her there, tying her to the spot, it had suddenly vanished and Mary realized that she should go to.

"I guess I should introduce myself." A voice broke threw Mary's reverie, and she suddenly remembered exactly why she was there. She was interviewing for a nanny position, and it was a job that that she desperately needed. The introduction came from the other unknown woman standing slightly behind Anna. She looked to be in her early fifties, was just as short as Anna, and wore her graying brown hair short, and curled against her head. She stepped forward, held out her hand, and said, "Though I guess we have already talked. I'm Elsie Hughes, Mr. Crawley's other housekeeper."

Recovering her composure quickly, Mary gave her a beaming smile, hoping that it masked the emptiness she was feeling in her chest, and shook her hand firmly while replying, "It's a pleasure to meet you," why did she sound so breathless, "both of you," Mary added while meeting Anna's eyes again. Both women gave her matching, small smiles and Mary suddenly hoped that the two women had not witness what had just transpired moments ago between herself and owner of this small palace. Mary felt her cheeks warm again at the impossibility of that wish. Surely they felt the searing heat radiating off of her body, while locked in their employer's eyes. However, both Anna's and Ms. Hughes' kind smiles betrayed nothing of the sort.

Ms. Hughes continued by saying, "Why don't you follow us into the kitchen and we can discuss a few important details before we show you the rest of the house and before you meet Ms. Quinn." Mary suddenly snapped back into a business like demeanor and nodded wide-eyed at Ms. Hughes. "Its just right around the corner," and she and Anna turned to the left and starting walking in the direction of where the man had stood just a few moments before. Mary quickly followed them; silently hoping that the man would be around the corner so she could look at him again. Mary quickly chased that thought away and instead reminded herself to not be upset if this arrangement didn't work out. If this wasn't something she was suppose to do, then everything would work out for the best in the end.

They turned a corner to the left of the billiards table and walked into another large and glorious room. This space held a twelve-person dinning room table made of a dark, nearly black wood. It had a matte finish and had a long silver table runner running down its center, stretching from end to end. In the middle of the table was another sculpture of the same design, though this one was the rendering of a man sitting cross-legged. On the opposite wall, running parallel to the table was a painting that spanned three separate canvases. The image was of a section of large forest filled with many leafless trees. The skeleton white frames of the painted trees were sat against a red, silver, and black background, arranging from left to right. Mary found the image to be tragically beautiful, and decided that, even though the image was striking, she would not want such a depressing image to adorn her walls.

They quickly walked through the dinning room and into a large, well lit corridor that got progressively darker the further back it went. Mary soon realized that the first part of the hallway was so well lit because, all along the right side, large chunks of the wall had been taken out to create a more open floor plan. Anna and Ms. Hughes, still leading Mary, took the first right that the corridor offered and they all emerged into an enormous kitchen. Mary knew that this was the type of kitchen that would make the finest chefs in Chicago green with jealousy. The floor was composed of a dark grey tile and, dominating the seen, was a black granite island, which was easily the size of a queen-sized bed, lined with four high top chairs. On the right edge of the island was a large double bin sink, easily deep and wide enough to wash a medium sized dog in. The glass wall that ran along the back, northern side of the kitchen was unblocked, leaving a breathtaking view of the northern part of the city. Mary wondered if she could see her Lincoln Park apartment from this vantage point. Along the wall to the right was a variety of upper and lower, dark wooden cabinets which held who knows what types of goodies and gadgets. The kitchen's counter was a large, undisturbed strip of the same black granite that adorned the island and Mary was sure that she would easily be able to see her refection in the polished stone. The darkness of the cabinets were occasionally broken up by a variety of stainless steal appliances, which included a double oven, a six-range stove, and a refrigerator that was large enough to hold several month's worth of food.

The kitchen's left side was open and looked into a slightly smaller, though it was still larger than any one room in Mary's apartment, and more cozy family room. The tile ceased at the edge of the kitchen and this room's floor was covered in a soft white carpet. The room was decorated with an oversized black leather sectional and two matching leather Lazy-Boy chairs. It was in this room that Mary saw the first evidence that a child lived there. There was Disney princess coloring book and a box of sixty-four crayons, most of which were out of the box, laying on the floor in front of the couch. All of the furniture was faced towards the western wall and Mary quickly discovered why. Hung just above eye level on the far wall was an enormous flat screen television. Its screen was unlit but Mary still found herself staring at it as if it were on. Edith would salivate over such a piece of technology. To the far right of the TV were several built-in bookshelves, which were adorned with several small picture frames, a scattering of books, and several white rose filled vases, which gave the room a pleasing, floral scent. The room's back, glass wall still offered an undisturbed, breathtaking view of the northern part of the city.

Ms. Hughes indicated one of the high-topped chairs around the island and said to Mary, "Why don't you have a set and we chat for a bit." Mary thanked her, slung her bag over her head and placed it on the island, drug out a chair, and took a seat. As she was crossing her right leg over her left, both Anna and Mrs. Hughes each drug their own chairs around the other corner of the island from where Mary was sitting. When they sat down, they were still close to Mary but across from her so that it would be easier to converse. Ms. Hughes, making herself comfortable in her set, address Mary by saying, "Obviously Mr. Crawley will have the final say in whether or not you get the position, but he wanted us to talk to you a bit, and explain the situation of the job."

"Okay," answered Mary politely, though she was confused by what Ms. Hughes meant in saying 'the situation of the job'. Mary was there to be the nanny. That seemed pretty straightforward. Of course every set of parents differed slightly in expectations, values, and monitoring, but the situation of every job she had held before then didn't vary that much.

Ms. Hughes turned to Anna and began by asking, "I guess we should start by explaining who we are and what we do." Anna nodded in agreement and Ms. Hughes, turned back to address Mary, "I've been working for Mr. Crawley for about five years. I cleaned and cooked for he and his wife at their old house in Oak Park. Anna here…" pointing a thumb in Anna's direction, "came on about three years ago, once the family moved to The Pearl. Since then we have been splitting the household duties." Mary noticed Anna's eyes were looking at the counter in front of her, without really seeing it. She was dazed, thinking of something else, and Mary had notice Anna's eyes widen and her brow crinkle up when Ms. Hughes said 'household duties.' Ms. Hughes continued, "Mr. Crawley was kind enough to procure Anna and I a shared residence in an apartment downstairs."

"So we can be there in the same minute that he wants us," Anna sarcastically cut across Ms. Hughes explanation. Ms. Hughes gave Anna a slight look of disappointment that read 'please not now in front of a new prospect.' Anna quickly recovered explaining to Mary, "I'm sorry. I don't want to sound ungrateful, Mr. Crawley has been a very generous employer and he notices and respects those that work hard, but it's hard to enjoy his generosity when you work about fourteen hours nearly everyday of the week." She leaned closer to Mary and said in a quitter tone, "My bank account in loaded, but I haven't been able to spend it on anything but take-out for the past 6 months." She paused for a moment and looked down at her hands in her lap. "He's a good man and I enjoy my job…but I'm only twenty-six…I just want to have a life…friends…a boyfriend." She looked up and met Mary's eyes briefly before turning her head to Ms. Hughes. "I'm sorry Elsie…please continue and don't mind me." Anna quieted and again looked at the counter top.

"Yes, well anyway…"Ms. Hughes continued with a tone that conveyed a bit of embarrassment at Anna's confession, "If you get the job, you'll be seeing a lot of Anna and I. As she pointed out…" Mary looked to Anna, "we do spend a lot of time here. We are in charge of doing all of the housekeeping, so cleaning and doing basic upkeep, and we handle most of the cooking as well, which also includes doing the shopping. Every once in a while, Mr. Crawley will host dinner parties, and for those occasions, Beryl Patmore, a chef from The Black Pearl restaurant on the 50th floor, will come up with some staff to cook and serve the meal." Ms. Hughes completed her explanation with a small nod, but quickly continued on to her next topic. "Now," She address Mary and asked, "What do you know about this family?" At this, Anna finally raised her head to look at Mary.

"Absolutely nothing really," Mary responded truthfully. "I know that we are not related, but that's it."

At this, Ms. Hughes laughed quietly, "That's true. Once Mr. Crawley received your resume from the agency, he did a little research to make sure that you were not of any relation." She must have seen the slight confusion on Mary's face because she quickly explained, "When you have as much money and resources as Mr. Crawley has, employing a relative becomes a very sticky business. Despite the best intentions of everyone involved, something always happens, and holidays become very uncomfortable affairs." Mary understood completely. Her father had once employed his nephew, Patrick, to help him run the farm. Patrick started out as the ideal employee but after a month or two he started coming in late and doing subpar work. Her father eventually had to fire him, and his brother, Mary's uncle, no matter how justified the firing was, still holds it against him.

"Well," Ms. Hughes continued, "let's just start, with Mr. Crawley's business shall we?" She settled deeper into her chair and Mary mirrored her action. "Though Mr. Crawley has made the bulk of his money in hedge fun investment, and don't bother asking us what that means because neither one of us really knows, he got his start in corporate law." Mary saw Anna turn slightly in her chair and cast her gaze out to the city skyline, no doubt, having heard this story too many times. Ms. Hughes gave her no notice and pressed on, "He grew up in Downer's Grove in a well-off middle class family." Mary found that to be interesting information. He had the same economic background as she did. "Mr. Crawley went to Northwestern for both undergrad and law school, graduating both in a total of six years."

'Very impressive,' Mary thought, 'so he had to work hard for what he had.'

Ms. Hughes persisted, "So he had graduated law school by 23, and started working for the Murray Firm right out of school. He worked his way up through the firm quickly and by the time he turned 25 had already made his first couple million."

She paused suddenly and looked away from Mary gathering her thoughts. "I guess I should include that he meet his wife, Lavina, in his last year of law school and the two married within the same year." She then quickly added, as if it were a side note and of little importance, "Around the end of his first year at the firm, the two bought a home in Oak Park and brought me on to care for it. Anyway..." she continued as if she were getting back to the crucial point, "They quickly became pregnant and in the fall of the same year they were married, their daughter Quinn was born." At this Ms. Hughes gave a small, sweet smile as if she were remembering a period of happiness in a dark past. She spoke on, speaking slower than she had before, "Mr. Crawley is an extremely hard worker and is incredibly intelligent. He was on the winning side on several enormous cases, the types of cases were billions of dollars are at stake, and was thus rewarded handsomely. Therefore, by the time he was 26, he had the means to start making his money work for him," She spoke more quickly now, "and thus his love affair with hedge funds began." Both Anna and Ms. Hughes laughed at this statement and the former shook her head in an exasperated manner.

Anna finally spoke, and she concluded the brief history of the Crawley family by saying, "Hundreds of millions of dollars later, they moved into The Pearl, hired me, and the rest is…" gesturing to the room around them, "history." Both Anna and Ms. Hughes chuckled quietly at Anna's joke.

Mary nodded her head slowly, portraying to them that she both understood the account and was amazed by it. She leaned back further in her chair, let out an astonished breath, and stared out the window at the expanse of the city skyline. She had always considered herself to be a hard worker and was proud of all that she had accomplished, but she now considered her accolades to be laughable. By the time Mr. Crawley was her age, he had already had a couple million lining his pockets.

"Does he still practice law?" Mary asked, turning her gaze back to the women sitting in front of her.

At this, Anna and Ms. Hughes locked eyes, and the demeanor of the room shifted instantly from one of cheerful, jovialness to being one of anguish and distress. After a moments pause that was heavy with anticipation, Ms. Hughes hesitantly explained, "Mr. Crawley keeps himself very occupied…he hardly ever rests…so yes, he still practices even though he doesn't need to."

There was another moment's pause, heavy with hidden meaning, and Mary found her head buzzing with a thousand questions. However, all of her queries were answered with Anna's corresponding statement. Anna spoke to directly to Ms. Hughes in a hushed tone, as if she forgot that Mary was in the room, "I think he likes to stay busy… so he won't have time to think of her." Ms. Hughes nodded in agreement and turned to look out widows at the city skyline, tears brimming on her eyes. With that, Mary suddenly understood exactly why she was there. She understood the source of pain she had seen in his eyes.

Mary's mind was racing but her body was on autopilot, so, even though she already knew the answer, she couldn't stop the whispered question that left her lips, "So he won't have time to think of whom?" She stared at her purse in front of her without seeing it; bracing herself for the response she knew was coming.

Mary heard the house creak in the heavy pause that filled he room. Were they breathing? Was she breathing? Did the world stop turning? Did everyone stop what they were doing to hear the answer that Mary already knew? It was Anna who broke through the thick silence and finally answered Mary's question, "Well, that's one of the main reasons that Mr. Crawley is looking for a caretaker for Quinn…you see…" Anna paused and looked at Ms. Hughes, who nodded for her to continue, even though she was still staring out the window, "Mrs. Crawley…Lavina…became sick and died three years ago…She was only 26 and Quinn…was only two."


	3. Chapter 3

Pity… overwhelming pity. In the whole spectrum of human emotion, a field that ranges from bliss to misery, from passion to indifference, from terror to contentment, Mary only knew an overpowering sense of pity. She felt heavy, weighed down her understanding of this family's situation. She pitied the two women in front of her, as they stared silently in separate directions, their minds chasing their own memories. She pitied the man she had looked upon nearly ten minutes ago, ignorant of his tormented recent past. But, most of all, she pitied the motherless little girl whom she still did not know. Mary's thoughts immediately went to her own mother; she was five, it was August, the air was hot and thick with humidity…it was just past dusk… her mother brushing her hair after a bath with a purple comb, she smelled of sunscreen and cherries… she told Mary that fireflies outside the bedroom window would keep her safe while she slept, and Mary believed her without question… she feel asleep watching them fly and occasionally brush the window outside while securely wrapped in her mother's arms.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Mary muttered solemnly. She knew that the statement meant little; it would not sooth their wounds. She remembered her grandfather's funeral nearly 10 years ago. She stood up front of the church with her parents, while wearing a neighbor's too tight black dress, merely five feet from his open casket. Nameless faces pleaded their sorrow over what she had lost, assuring her of their condolences. She found their morning to be lacking and it angered her; if they were truly suffering as she was, they would be gnashing their teeth and ripping off their clothes in penitence. Her grandfather was an intimidating man in both size and demeanor. He was born a few years before the Great Depression and thus part of America's greatest generation. He served in World War II and was the only one of his three brothers to come home. He knew devastating loss, excruciating pain, and bitter anger, and though those experiences influenced him they did not define him. He was honest in a dishonest world, nonjudgmental in a society teaming with cruel gossip, fair in an unjust world, and hardworking in an increasingly sedentary humanity. Mary adored and respected him. She loved the way he smelled of hay, sweat, and sweet tobacco. He would let her sit on his lap and drive the tractors into the barn at the end of a long day. He always had root beer flavored hard candy in his pockets that he would give her, asking her to not tell her sisters. He would place her on his broad shoulders and pick apples in the fall and share stale popcorn with him while sitting on cold aluminum bleachers while they cheered for her dad's football team. So, when he died quickly from pancreatic cancer the summer she turned fifteen (an ugly end Mary found very unbefitting of a man like her grandfather), she was sure she would never recover from her grief. She discovered that while time doesn't heal all wounds, it does slowly mend them, leaving visible scars, allowing individuals to carry on with their lives without running the risk of bleeding out on a day to day basis.

"Thank you dear," it was Ms. Hughes who spoke, calling Mary out of her memories. "Though I'm afraid the tragedy of this home doesn't end there." Mary looked up, taken aback, and met the woman's red-rimmed eyes. "You see, when Lavina died three years ago, Mr. Crawley's mother, Isobel, took over the care of Quinn." She paused momentarily, took a deep, shaky breath, and continued, "…Cancer's a horrible disease…" With those few words, Mary knew how this story would end. "She had been sick for a long time, several years before Lavina passed…I think Isobel hung on and fought for so long because she knew that they both needed her… even though she knew she was fitting a battle she couldn't win." Ms. Hughes spoke quietly, completely immersed in her memories. "For being as sick as she was, colorless, frail, and emaciated in the end, she went quietly in the night a little less than a month ago…She was only 58…only five years older than I am." She finished the last sentence in a choked whisper and Anna came around her back and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Mary's entire frame bowed in on its self with this latest news. She tightened her already crossed arms, felt her spine curved in and her shoulder's slump forward, trying to physically protect her aching heart from any further attack. Again, Mary's kept most of her grief for the faceless little girl who was somewhere in this house. She was probably too young to remember her mother, but she would have known her grandmother, and she will notice her absence. To have lost so much at such a young age was a tragedy that Mary never knew.

Anna cleared her voice to speak, her hand still on Ms. Hughes's shoulder, "We're sorry to trouble you with the ghosts of this house but whoever is hired for the job…needs to know." Mary now clearly understood what was meant earlier about 'the situation of the job.' She never worked for a single parent, let alone cared for a child that had experienced more loss and heartache than she had experienced in five times as long of a life.

Mary suddenly questioned whether or not she wanted the job. What a difficult task it would be. She would only be there because the girl's grandmother had died who had cared for her after her mother had died. What enormous shoes to try to fill. Mary loved caring for children, and knew that it was always challenging, no matter the situation, but she did not think she would be qualified enough, or have enough patience, or enough heart for such a daunting, haunted position. How could she get the girl to mind her, when she would only be a replacement for those that she had loved and lost? What words of comfort would she whisper in her ear when she wept for her loss? How could she make her smile when the world had given her so many reasons to cry? Mary found herself frightened and filled with self-doubt by such an intimidating prospect.

Ms. Hughes raised her arm and patted Anna's hand, which still rested on her shoulder, she then lightly brush away a few stray tears. She took a moment to gather herself, stole a deep, steadying breath, and finally gave Mary a small, slightly embarrassed smile because she had let herself get so emotional in front of a perfect stranger. Mary returned her smile, trying to reassure her without speaking, that she had thought nothing of it. Anna moved to sit down again and Ms. Hughes then asked, with the same smile masking her pain, "Well, do you have any questions for us before we show you the rest of the house?"

Both women gazed at her, and she looked down at her hands in her lap, trying to gather her thoughts. Truly, since the revelation she had a moment ago concerning her own reservations about taking the job, Mary had only one, enormous apprehension, and she asked her question knowing that it would either make or break her decision.

"What's the girl like? I mean…how is she coping?"

Mary saw Anna's head whip around quickly to look at Ms. Hughes. However, Ms. Hughes paid her no mind and only smiled slightly at Mary. Though her brown eyes looked into Mary's, Mary knew that her mind was far away. When she spoke, her voice was relaxed, several octaves lower than normal.

"Quinn was an incredibly happy baby. She smiled and smiled all day long really," a large grin crossed Ms. Hughes face at the happy memory. "That was the happiest I've ever seen all of them. They had each other, a new healthy baby, and enough money to keep them more than comfortable for the rest of their lives. Mr. Crawley was working less and less, and they would spend most afternoons going for extended walks together around the city…They were all so…beautiful…" She paused, her throat constricting around her words again, "That's what makes it so sad in the end really, they were so happy…so young… The world was theirs." She paused and looked at Anna, who gave her a small smile encouraging her to continue. A clocked chimed somewhere in the house and a ray of sunlight reflected off one of the vases holding the white roses, creating a small brilliant indoor rainbow. "But we live in an unfair world and Lavina was suddenly gone…Quinn was too young to really understand, but he took it hard…I once found him, sitting on the floor in Quinn's nursery, holding her small body to his, burying his face in her chest and belly, his arms wrapped tightly around her, sobbing uncontrollably. Though she was young…I remember her looking right at me… her eyes bore straight into mine, and she looked as if she were saying, 'It's ok. He's not hurting me and he needs this'."

Ms. Hughes let out a small hysterical chuckle. "I know I must sound crazy to you dear but that's what I remember…vividly remember." Mary wasn't making assumptions on Ms. Hughes sanity at all, she was only thinking of the image her words elicited. The wealthy, tall man that had stared into her soul earlier, broken and sobbing, clutching the closest thing he had left in this world of his wife.

"Quinn is a very thoughtful and aware child," Ms. Hughes continued. "Though she doesn't remember her mother, she knows that something is missing…it's staring her in the face. While under her grandmother's watch, she grew and still remained a somewhat happy child." She paused, gathering her thoughts again. "She would smile and laugh and wanted to include her father in her happiness. He would often smile and laugh along with her, but when she wasn't looking…the weight of his depression continued to drag him down…He spent more and more time at the office, a place he didn't need to be to make money, and slowly began ignoring Quinn little by little." Mary found herself to be irritated at this latest news but Ms. Hughes pushed on, unhindered by Mary's rising blood pressure. "I heard he and his mother argue over his growing distance to his daughter often…and he would pay Quinn more attention for a few days but it always went back to him leaving early in the morning and not getting back until eight at night." Mary could tell that both Anna and Ms. Hughes were equally annoyed with their employer's actions but were not allowed to speak of it out of fear for their jobs.

Ms. Hughes continued in a whisper, fearing that she might be overheard, and Mary leaned in closer to her, "Quinn's natural jovialness slowly dwindled the more and more her father distanced himself. Every once in a while, he would step out from under his cloud of depression and pay attention to her, and her happiness would return. We would hear them laughing and playing and it seemed like the world would start turning again…but he always went back into his shell."

Anna broke in again, speaking slightly bolder than her associate had, "I understand his despair and I do not think little of the suffering he has gone through…but to ignore her like that…it's not right." Mary agreed quite adamantly. "She's a kind and sweet little girl but his detachment has caused her to shield herself from others…she's quite and lonely and since her grandmother passed…we've really only heard her speak to herself." She paused, remembering, and she let out one humorless bark of laughter, "You should have seen the pair of them at Isobel's service…each wearing the same blank, stony face…betraying no emotion but coldness at that dear woman's passing. I don't blame Quinn, she's only learned to mirror him…It's like he's punishing himself. He's fighting being a happy man."

Ms. Hughes shushed Anna quietly and patted her right hand, where it lay clenched in a tight fist, resting on the island's black granite top. Ms. Hughes turned back to Mary and said, "So, if you get the job, you'll be caring for a kind little girl who has withdrawn from the world…She'll hardly looks anyone in the eyes, she's minds as well as any five year old, but her eyes normally stay glued to her feet… She never smiles anymore, not even for her father when he temporary wakes up from his mummified state, which has made him more irritable than ever. He's not stupid…he knows that his actions have had a very negative affect on his daughter, though he doesn't acknowledge it. She's keen and smart…really, she just had to grown up too fast." The women finished, looking at one another and sharing an unspoken understanding.

Their explanation laid a clear framework for what to expect from the child. She would be quiet, introverted, despondent, and feel unloved. A sudden vicious anger reared up inside her chest. She felt her muscles tense and her skin heat. She felt the need to be on her feet, moving and an irritated breath left her lungs. She despised the girl's gutless, self-centered father. The child had already lost her mother and grandmother, did she have to grieve for his loss as well? Could he not step up and give his child the love and attention she deserved? She was by many intents and purposes, an orphaned child. What kind of man did that to his own child? Mary pitied him for his lose, but hated him for his actions. There was no excuse for abandoning his only child to a life of emotional neglect and personal misery.

Mary's previous apprehension over taking the job had vanished while listening to Anna and Ms. Hughes explain the girl's situation and her absentee father. She would do anything she could to ensure this child, who had lost her entire family at a lamentable young age, that she was loved and important. She would be the type of caretaker that the girl deserved—present, loving, attentive, and nourishing. Mary would see her smile. Mary would hear her laugh.

"Where is she?" Mary asked, determination coating her words, "I'd very much like to meet her." Mary rose from her chair and slung her bag back across her body, clearly signifying that she did not want to wait any longer. Both women hesitated in their chairs momentary, no doubt taken aback by Mary's sudden change in demeanor. Mary looked at them expectantly, neither had follow her lead and risen, and Mary started looking about the house and down the dark corridor, determined to find the girl by herself if need be. Seeing her impatient persistence, both women rose quickly before Mary could start knocking on doors and opening them at random.

Ms. Hughes spoke breathlessly to Mary's turned, searching backside, "Well…we thought we would show you the rest of the house…"

"I'd really like to meet her first," Mary nearly shouted at her, whipping around to look her at her full on. Mary saw the shock on the older woman's face and the small, impressed smirk on the younger woman's face. Mary quickly amended her outburst, "Forgive me," she spoke softer, in a more measured tone, "I just think that seeing the girl I'll be caring for is far more important than taking a tour." Mary meant the statement to be firm, but she hoped that she hadn't come across as too demanding. The women had been wonderful hosts and she didn't want to ruin the good rapport that she had established with them over the past half hour.

"I quite agree," Anna consented, "Don't you Elsie?" Anna spoke to Ms. Hughes but gave Mary a knowing smile. Mary felt that, in Anna, she would find a kindred spirit. "We'll first go and see Quinn, then show Mary the rest of the house, and then, if we all feel that it would be a good idea," looking at Mary then back to Ms. Hughes, "Mary can go and talk with Mr. Crawley."

Mary desperately hoped that she would have a chance to speak to Mr. Crawley. She wanted the job for the girl's sake and would thus be on her best behavior, when she spoke with him. She would placate him to his face and curse his spinelessness behind his back. If the conversation turned in a way were she was sure she would not be getting the position, Mary would truly give him a piece of her mind. She knew why Ms. Hughes and Anna where reluctant to stand up to him, but she would be proud to be escorted out of The Pearl by armed guards on the girls behalf. Mary smiled at image in her mind. Her arms cuffed behind her walking through the posh lobby of The Pearl, surrounded by four or five men dressed in black suits with earpieces in their left ears and guns slung to their right hips, emerging like a heroic villain through the swinging glass doors, people would cheer in the streets knowing that she had stood up for the helpless, and Mary knew the first thing she would do once the men took the heavy cuffs off her wrists would be to look up to the Crawley penthouse, place a triumphant smirk on her face, raise her right hand to the sky, and stick up her middle finger at him, everyone on the streets would know that it was meant for him, and he would see her do it, perched in his glass tower, and feel physically burned by the public insult…

Ok…Mary knew that that would never happen, but the image made her smile. The altercation with the man would probably not get that public, but she knew, that it would at least be passionate.

Mary nodded her compliance to Anna, and Anna responded by saying, "Why don't you follow me this way," she walked out of the kitchen and moved to stand in the corridor, turning her body to face the way they had came, towards the dinning room, and continued, "and we can introduce you to Quinn." She smiled at Mary and looked swiftly to a still slightly stunned Ms. Hughes. Mary moved quickly to follow Anna as she walked through the dinning room and back into the enormous living room. After a moment's pause, Mary heard Ms. Hughes light footsteps behind her, having finally unthawed from where she stood in the kitchen.

They passed the billiards table, the double-sided fireplace, the large double doors that Mary had entered through, the sitting area, and the grand piano, Anna leading, Mary trailing her, and Ms. Hughes bringing up the rear. Anna hung a sharp right past the sitting area, revealing an enormous out door patio to her left and another dark corridor directly in front of her. Mary calculated that they were now on the southern side of the penthouse and she only had a moment to take in the patio. The area was about the size of the dinning room and was furnished with the same kind of block-furniture that was in the living room. Though while the frames of the three outdoor chairs and two outdoor couches matched the cool grey of their counterparts in the living room, their cushions were an off-white color, their throw pillows were a cool, steely blue, and their fabric, whether it be stretched over square frames or filled with soft cotton was noticeably shinier and tougher looking—surely signifying it's ability to repel water. The patio furniture was also arranged in a square shape, though this time centered around an outdoor, open fireplace, it's walls composed of black and grey stone. Mary was pleased to find that the railings around the patio were at least four feet high, and, perhaps another three feet in front of the railings, stood a solid sheet of eight foot tall glass (connected somehow to the building though Mary could not see how from inside) giving an unobstructed view of the southern city skyline all while ensuring that no child, or even determined adult, could fall off its sides.

After passing the sunlit brightness of the patio, the women crossed the threshold of the dark hallway. Their combined footfalls sounded loud on the hardwood floors of this condensed space. Mary thought that it would be fun to run down this long hall with clean socks on, stop suddenly, and see how far she could slide only using her momentum. Random pieces of artwork hung along the inner, whitewashed walls to Mary's right and an assortment of heavy looking, dark wooden doors were placed along the wall to her left. They immediately passed two doors, separated only by about four feet, and then another fifteen steps down the hall, Anna came to a stop at another identical looking door. Mary stopped abruptly a couple feet behind her, knowing that this was their destination.

Anna let out her own slightly nervous breath, turned to Mary and said in a whispered voice, "Remember, she's a sweet girl, she's just crippled by insecurity. I don't know how the other children that you cared for responded to you when you first met them…but I'm sure Quinn will be much different." Mary was sure of that too. She had always bonded with the kids that she watched fairly quickly. They were all loved and nourished children and thus where able to give and express love easily. Eli Little crawled onto her lap within the first five minutes of meeting her, and gave her a detailed account of his day of school, a well thought out explanation for why his teddy bear, Jo, was able to keep him safe at night, and a valid argument for why he should have SpaghettiO's every night for dinner. She fell in love with him instantly and he looked at her like she was the sun and the moon. Mary knew that she was already slightly in love with Quinn Crawley but she needed to accept that her affections might never be returned.

"I understand." Mary responded truthfully to Anna, whose left hand rested on the doors curved handle.

Anna looked at her knowingly, and asked, "Ready then?" Mary nodded silently, her eyes on Anna's left hand, waiting with determined impatience for her to turn the handle. Mary felt the tension of all three of them in the air. Their senses were acutely aware of their surroundings and their muscles were tightly bunched, as if they were going into battle not merely entering the bedroom of a five-year old girl.

Anna took in a deep breath, raised her right hand and knocked once on the door, before turning the handle and opening it. She stepped into the bright room first and Mary, taking another moment's pause, entered in slowly after her.

Mary knew that it was inappropriate to be jealous of a five year old but standing just past the doorway of Quinn's room awakened her inner adolescent, and she found herself envious of the child's bedroom. Mary's eyes widened as she took in room around her, and an opened mouth smile broke across her face as she let out a string of corresponding light-hearted chuckles. The girl's bedroom looked to be straight out of a modern fairy tale, and Mary idly wondered if the girl had any talking animals that doubled as a loyal sidekick.

When Mary crossed the threshold of the room behind Anna, she found herself in a short corridor. Though she quickly walked through it, she noticed that the door to her left held an en suite bathroom, complete with a small vanity, toilet, and a fairly large bathtub which doubled as a shower, and the door to her right held a walk in closest, which contained a large assortment of clothes and shoes to the left and enough toys to fill a small toy shop to the right. Both doors, and the captivating spaces behind them, were only the start to Mary's envy. Once past the small corridor, the whole expanse of the room was before her. The floor was covered in a plush white carpet and the room was decorated in a variety of purples and greens. Directly in front of Mary was the same glass wall that covered all of the exterior walls of the penthouse, though this wall came with a set of spring green floor-to-ceiling curtains, which were currently bunched in the right-hand corner of the room. Mary was pleased to see the curtains, glad that the girl could sleep without fear of getting sunburnt. To the immediate right was a double bed set on a white, wrought iron canopy bed frame. The frame was adorned with many small white roses placed on winding ivy, bent and shaped by a skilled craftsman. A thin, soft, looking fabric, the color of pale purple, hung atop the bed and along the two corners at the foot of the bed. Her comforter was a slightly deeper purple and the pillows were the same spring green as the curtains, though they were hard to see under a hoard of stuff animals. The bed was placed in between two white bedside tables, a reading-lamp and digital clock were placed on the one to the right, and a small picture frame and an oversized neon-green plastic teddy bear, which Mary knew would emanate a soft glow in the night, were on the table to the left. In the right hand corner of the room, in front of the curtains, were two small chairs and a table, on which lay a variety of coloring books, colored construction paper, glue sticks, child's scissors, markers, crayons, and pencils. Mary saw a few finished drawings, pinned to a cork-board behind the desk and was deeply curious to see what the girl's imagination had conjured.

To the left sat the focus of the bulk of Mary's jealously. Taking up nearly the entire left wall, stood the most impressive playhouse Mary had ever seen. It was like someone had taken a beautiful Victorian style house, shrunk it several sizes smaller, and placed it in the girl's bedroom. It was probably at least eight feet tall and was well over twelve feet long. Its siding (Is that real siding? Yes) was beige, it's two front windows had light purple shutters on each side, and the door, placed in between the windows and dividing the house down the middle, was painted a mint-green color. The house's roof was covered with real shingles and it looked to have functioning gutters. Mary wondered sarcastically if Quinn got much rain in the summer. The roof peaked in middle, and slightly above the miniature door, was a small circular window, which led Mary to believe that the playhouse held a loft within it. To the right of the small window, stretched long the spine of the roof was a perfectly squared, red-bricked chimney. In front of the lower windows, stretching their length, were two rectangular, eggplant colored flower boxes, filled with, to Mary's surprise, fake pink and yellow tulips. Adding even more realism to the tiny home was its small wooden front porch, which was lined with a white-picket fence and featured a kissing-gate. Lastly, Mary noticed a doorbell to the right of the door, lit up to a soft glow, and, to the left of the kissing-gate, a tiny mailbox with its flag up. Mary searched for the perfect word to describe the space, and after some brief pondering, settled on enchanting.

Mary was pleased to see a small library and cozy-looking rocking chair in the left hand corner of the room just past the playhouse. At this Mary's curiosity overtook her, and she walked past Anna and headed for the reading area. Her hand brushed over the cool polished wood of the rocking chair's right arm and landed on its back, off-white, cushioning. Mary realized with pleasure that it was made out of crushed velvet, which was soft, and delightfully warm to the touch. The cushion covered the hard, wooden frame of the chair's back and seat, making it an ideal place to curl up with a good book. The child's library was fairly impressive. It offered, what appeared to be, a complete collection of Dr. Seuss and Berenstain Bears books, worn copies of _The Giving Tree_ and _Charlotte's Web_, new copies of _Corduroy_ and _Love You Forever_, and a variety of modern and classic children's books. She also found a variety of adult classics, like_ A Tale of_ _Two Cities_ and _Sense and Sensibility_, mixed in with the children's books.

Mary's heart leaped when her eyes landed on her favorite book as a child, _The Velveteen Rabbit_. She picked up the old edition quickly and started slowly thumbing through its worn pages. A flood of lovely memories rushed through Mary's mind at seeing the same words on the old paper. She settled on her most prized memory of book—her father reading it to her one stormy night when she was six or seven years old. Her father, like her grandfather, was an apposing physical specimen. He stood well over six feet tall and had a well-built, strong body. When he spoke, his voice deep and resonate, people listened. Others knew him to be tough, measured, and business-like, though those hard qualities crumpled in the presence of his three daughters. As a child, Mary was deathly afraid of the dark, and so one spring night, when a horrible thunderstorm knocked out their power, her father read her _The Velveteen Rabbit_ three times by flickering candle-light before she was finally able to drift off to sleep. Each time he read the book, it was like Mary was hearing for the first time. When she woke the next morning, to a clear blue sky, she discovered her father was still in the rocking chair by the side of her bed. He was asleep at an awkward angle, his right leg resting on her bed and his head slung to the left. The candle at her beside had been blown out hours ago but her father remained present in the dark, mere inches away from her if she needed him.

With this memory of her loyal and steadfast father, Mary remembered the little girl who was ignored by her own. Mary took in the enchanting room around her and thought of how, when she first entered it and gazed upon its splendor, considered the room to be every child's fantasy come true. How painfully wrong she had been. She remembered that the little girl, who called this space her own, would trade it all gladly for the daily love and attention of the only person she had left. Mary's temper again rose at the thought of Mr. Crawley, no doubt at this moment tirelessly working for pointless reasons to make more money that he did not need.

Mary's attention refocused on the task at hand and the child who needed her. She looked around the room again, wondering if she had missed the child somewhere. Scanning over the empty bed, art desk, and reading corner, Mary's eyes settled on the only other place that the girl could be. She slowly started walking towards the playhouse but hesitated a few feet from its small porch. She looked back at Anna and Ms. Hughes who were both watching her nervously in the doorway, and asked them quietly, "Does she know that I'm coming today? Does she know why I'm here?" Both women nodded their heads slowly nearly in unison. Mary would have laughed at the looks on their faces under normal circumstances, both standing as still as statues, barley breathing, and both sets of eyes bulging out of their skulls, but she understood their anxiety. Mary then suddenly wondered why the two women were so nervous. Did they want Mary to get the job has badly as she wanted it? True, they had hit it off well, but there was no need for them to be pulling so hard on her behalf. Were there no other candidates? That idea was nearly impossible. There must be hundreds of nannies in the Chicago area and all of them dying to be paid what Mr. Crawley was offering. Mary pushed the thought to the side for now, she would think it over later, the current matter at hand was much more pressing.

Mary looked down at the small porch extending off the front of Quinn's playhouse and wondered whether it would support her weight. Without giving it too much further thought, she stepped onto it, her heals cracking on its wooden frame. 'Of course it had a real wooden porch,' Mary thought to herself. It was well capable of not only taking her weight but probably the combined weight of the other two women as well. She knew that Quinn had probably been watching her since she had first entered her room and wondered what the girl thought of her. Mary hardly ever troubled over what others thought of her, she liked the way she was and if others didn't then so be it, but she found herself obsessed with how the little girl had perceived her initially. Mary walked the two paces to the small green door, her heals rubbing unpleasantly on the unpolished wood, creating an awful sound that made her back teeth hurt. Once in front of the door, she bent at the waist and slightly at the knees so that her head was just slight lower than the top of the four foot door, placed her left hand on her knee to better support her upper body, raised her right hand, and gave two soft knocks.

Mary could only hear her own shallow breathing; in through the nose, out through the mouth…in through the nose, out through the mouth. After a moment's pause, heavy with anticipation, Mary first hear then saw the small silver door handle of the house turn to the right. A second later, the door opened only a few inches wide, and Mary saw only one half of an angel's face; skin as fair as white silk, curly soft hair the color of a warm sunset, and (though she hated paying him a compliment) dazzling eyes as crystal blue and clear has her fathers, before she tilted her head and eyes down to her feet. Mary remembered Ms. Hughes's words from earlier, 'She hardly looks anyone in the eyes…' Mary leaned a little to the right, trying to get a better look at the girl, but the child made no move to open the door further. Mary pressed on, undeterred by the girl's shyness.

"Hello, I'm Mary." Mary introduced herself to the child about the same way she would introduce herself to anyone. She found, during her many years of being a nanny, that around the age of four or five, children no longer responded to baby talk. You couldn't engage them in conversation like an adult, but she found that she got a better response from of them just talking to them in a plain and simple way. Since, Quinn already knew she was coming today and understood well enough why she was there, Mary decided to forgo any explanation to the girl, and went for a different tactic altogether.

"You know," Mary continued kindly, "I noticed your drawling table over there and I'd really like to draw a picture but I didn't want to use your things without asking you first."

The girl raised her head slightly and looked to her drawing table in the corner of the room.

"So, what do you think? May I use your supplies and draw a picture?"

Quinn, still looking at her drawing table through the crack in the door, took a moment and pondered Mary's request. Mary was tense with anticipation but tried to keep a calm exterior; she had no other plan if the girl denied her request. After a long moment, Quinn nodded her head once, her small pink mouth set in a hard line, and then lowered her head again and continued staring at her bare toes.

Mary acted as if the girl was behaving perfectly normally and responded to the silent approval by saying through a kind smile that coated her words with friendliness, "Thank you Quinn. That's very nice of you." Mary said no more as she stood to her full height, turned, and walked across the room to the miniature art studio. Midway through her assent across the room, Mary heard the door of the playhouse slowly creak open more widely, and he felt the girl's eyes on her as reached the small table. Mary acted as if she was unaware of Quinn's large blue eyes on her as she slung her bag over her shoulder and onto the floor and settled herself at one of the two tiny chairs. Mary felt comical sitting there; she was squished, her knees were a good three inches taller than the table and nearly as high as her breasts, and her bottom hung a little off both sides of the tiny chair. But again, Mary acted as if it were nothing and started thumbing through the colorful stack of construction paper sat in the middle of the table. Placing a slight look of irritation across her face, Mary turned her head to the right and called to Quinn in a somewhat pleading tone

"Quinn, do you think you could help me find a yellow piece of paper?" Mary turned back to the stack of paper in front of her and shuffled them again, "I can't seem to find one."

Mary continued to shuffle the stack, though her ears were acutely listening for the sound of Quinn's footsteps. Mary knew perfectly well that there was a bight yellow piece of paper not five sheets deep from the top, but she needed to draw Quinn out of the playhouse in order to engage her. Finally, after a few moments that felt like a lifetime, Mary heard the slow, soft footfalls of the girl's bare feet on the soft carpet. A second later, Quinn was beside Mary, and while Mary was seated so low in the tiny chair, the two were about at the same eye level. Mary still sensed the girl's eyes on her, appraising her silently. Mary paid it no mind and only handed Quinn the top half of the stack. "Here," Mary handed over the stack without looking at her, knowing that it would only cause to the girl to look away in the same instant, "If you could look through this half for me?" Mary felt the papers being slowly pulled from her fingers and once they were gone, she refocused her efforts on her own portion. For a short while, there was only the sound of two sets of hands, one significantly smaller than the other, shuffling through bunches of paper. By the time Mary exhaled for a sixth time, she saw a small hand outstretched, grasping a bright piece of yellow construction paper.

Once Mary saw this, she took a risk and glanced at Quinn. She met the girl's eyes for the briefest of moments, before Quinn quickly looked away from her. Standing out in the open, Mary noticed that the girl wore a yellow sundress, approximately the same color of the piece of paper clutched in her hand, and it was embroidered with the white silhouettes of a Mother duck and three ducklings. Her round face was angelic and her strawberry blonde ringlets hung down just past her shoulders. She was a beautiful and tragically tormented child.

"Thank you Quinn." Mary spoke the words softly and sweetly as she gingerly took the paper from Quinn's grasp. She looked away from the girl and focused her attention on the paper in front of her. Mary grabbed a brown crayon off the table and started doodling the outline of what was sure to be a poorly drawn dog. She had to curve her back towards her legs and nearly put her chest to her knees in order to reach the miniature table. Mary noticed that Quinn was watching her hand as it moved across the paper, the brown crayon making black marks across the yellow paper. They stayed like that for a minute or two, Quinn still standing silently beside her, the girl's breathing deep and rhythmic, Mary turning the page this way and that to get better angles for her hand to draw. Several crayons were spread across the table, a red one being the closest to where Quinn stood.

"Could you please hand me the red crayon?" Mary asked her without looking at her, still appearing to be engrossed in her creation. She saw Quinn pick up the crayon out of the corner of her eye, and Mary raised her hand, palm up and flat. She felt the smooth sides of crayon and cool, small fingertips touch her skin. Quinn let go quickly and moved her hand swiftly down her side. "Thanks" Mary told her still without looking up and directly at her, hoping to make the girl feel comfortable in her presence.

Mary dropped the red crayon to her left and asked Quinn if she could hand her the blue one… then the green one…and then the purple one. They stayed like this for a while; Mary adding more and more marks to her page with Quinn's silent assistance. The only sounds in the room were Mary's requests to the girl followed by the sound of waxy crayon hitting paper, over and over again. After what had probably been five minutes of Quinn handing Mary crayons, Mary thought it was time to implement the next part of her plan. She stretched her right leg out underneath the table, enjoying the tingling sensation of blood returning to her foot after her leg had been bent so tightly for so long, and nudged the other small chair, pushing it away from the table and slightly opening up to where Quinn stood. Anna and Ms. Hughes had repeatedly told Mary that the girl was kind and polite, and thus she hoped those qualities would ensure that the girl would not turn her down.

With her eyes still on her paper, Mary said in a quite but clear voice, "Why don't you have a set and draw with me?" Mary held her breath as Quinn pondered her request. After a moment's pause Mary felt her leave her side as the child came to sit in the chair across from her. Mary stole another glance at the girl and saw her take a pink page of construction paper and immediately put a blue crayon to its smooth surface. Mary shifted her gaze slightly and noticed Anna and Ms. Hughes still standing like statues in the doorway. The four of them stayed like this for another five or ten minutes, the girl immersed in her drawing, the three women immersed in her. Mary kept a watchful eye on Quinn, noticing that she looked slightly less haunted. She seemed to be content sitting there with Mary next to her. Mary continued doodling on her paper, and started humming quietly to herself hoping to portray to Quinn that she too was very pleased to be in her presence. She wanted to emphasize to Quinn, in a subtle way, that she was truly enjoying spending time with her.

When it looked as if Quinn was getting close to finishing her drawing, a multi-colored rainbow with a puffy cloud on each end and a bright yellow sun drawn on the edge of the paper, Mary took another risk. She adjusted her position, so that she was leaning across the table even more, and fixed her eyes on Quinn's drawing.

"Wow…that it really well done." Quinn's crayon, which had been coloring in one of the clouds, slowly stilled and the girl looked up at Mary from under her brow. Mary pushed on, "Do you think I could have it?...I like it a lot better than mine." Quinn's eyes returned to her paper, her crayon still pressed to the same spot where she had paused. Mary again held her breath and a moment later Quinn's crayon started up again, finishing the cloud, as if she hadn't even heard her. Mary's heart sunk. She knew that this was a clear 'no' and she felt a stinging pain of disappointment. She was sure her plan to just be present with the girl, doing an activity that she enjoyed, not trying to force her into interaction (something that would have surely intimidated her), would be an excellent way for Mary gradually insert herself into Quinn's life as a caretaker. But the girl had failed to respond to her. She looked over to Anna and Ms. Hughes still standing in the doorway, both of their eyes glued to the floor and their shoulder's slumped forward in defeat. Mary was so ashamed that she had let everyone down and she was so busy trying to think of another nanny that could possibly try his or her luck in an attempt to win over Quinn Crawley that she did not see the pink paper raised in offering.

A flash of pink hit the corner of Mary's left eye, and she slowly turned her head and saw Quinn holding her creation out to her. Mary's heart leapt as she realized that perhaps all was not lost. Quinn's arm was still outstretched to her when Mary noticed the girl's eyes were looking longingly at her own paper, which featured a rather pathetic rendering of a happy dog with a bone and red ball at its paws.

"Perhaps…" Mary spoke, gathering her own page in her hand, "We should trade drawings. That way we'll always have something to remember each other by." Then putting as much truth behind her words as possible, Mary leaned even closer to Quinn and whispered, so that only she could hear, "I've really enjoyed spending time with you today Quinn."

Then, as slowly as the sun sets, Quinn raised her head and her bright blue eyes meet Mary's. Mary was slightly taken aback at her stare, it was so hauntingly beautiful…just as her father's had been. She looked at Mary plainly, and Mary saw the sense of knowing in her eyes. Her gaze was not one of a child, but rather one of an adult who has seen too much heartache. Her eyes held amazing depth and spoke volumes of the life she had lived and the one's she had lost. She was apprising Mary with her silent stare. Mary held her gaze, though she did not stare back at her as boldly as she had stared upon her father. She tried to soften her eyes, and pleaded silently that the girl would see the sincerity of her words, etched across her face. Then, in a movement so quick that Mary hardly caught it, she looked away.

Mary raised her hand and slowly withdrew the paper from Quinn's fingertips. Once the paper was gone, Quinn's palm flattened, a clear invitation for Mary to slide her own picture into the girl's grasp. Once the exchanged was complete, Quinn leaned back in her chair, held Mary's picture up to her face with both hands, and let her eyes slowly wander across the flat surface.

Mary knew that it was time to leave Quinn be, not wanting to over crowd her too much in their first meeting, but she still had one last strategy to implement. Mary met the eyes of Anna and Ms. Hughes briefly before turning back to Quinn one last time. The girl still held Mary's drawing to her face, so Mary spoke to the back of the bright yellow paper.

"Thank you so much for your drawing. It really is lovely and I really have enjoyed spending time with you…Maybe, I could come back and draw with you again in a couple days?" Mary finished her request with a silent prayer to the heavens and held her breath as Quinn pondered her proposal.

Mary heard the girl's slow, shallow breathing and wondered whether it was possible to die from anticipation. The unseen clock chimed again once somewhere in the house and Mary saw a helicopter flying low over the city in the distance. Her mind raced, trying to think of another tactic to win the girl's favor if this one had failed. Mary cast her eyes about the room, hoping to see something that would give her inspiration.

Then, just as Mary was beginning to think that the girl wasn't going to respond to her in anyway, Quinn let out a small and clear, "Okay." Her voice was high and sweet, and beautiful music to Mary's ears. The one word reverberated through her mind like the beautiful prose of poetry. The voice matched her angel's face and the moment Mary heard her speak, she was determined to hear it again. Mary sighed with sudden relief, unaware of the tension in her shoulders and back until it had gone. Though she still did not look at Mary, though she still was crippled by insecurity and doubt, and though she was still very much a victim of her father's neglect, Mary felt as if she and girl had overcame an enormous obstacle today.

Mary rose, Quinn's drawing clutched in her hand, bent to pick up her bag and slung it over her head. "Okay, I'll see you in a couple days." Mary turned and headed toward the door, noticing with a small shock that only Anna stood there. Once she reached the door, Mary turned and looked once more upon the small child, but the girl's angel face was still buried in the yellow paper, blocking Mary's view.

Once in the hall again, and after Anna had shut the door, Mary let out a loud sigh of relief and placed her entire backside against the inner wall of the corridor, sagging her weight against it. She was suddenly very tired and her body felt heavy, as if she had just finished a strenuous workout. She let out a few relieved chuckles before addressing Anna.

"I'm sorry, I know it wasn't much, but I feel like I've just ran a marathon."

"No that was impressive." Anna looked at Mary wondrously. "Direct eye contact and a single word answer from Quinn is something to be really proud of…You must really know what you're doing."

"Not really. I mean," not wanting to sound too proud, "I am a good nanny and I know what to do in normal circumstances…but I just kind of went with what felt right." Mary met Anna's eye seriously, shifting the dynamic of the conversation. "Your right about her though. She's a very sweet girl…it's a tragedy to the world that she's been forgotten."

Anna and Mary shared a silent moment, heavy with understanding. Eventually, Anna broke the silence, "Well, shall I show you the rest of the house then?"

"Of course, of course." Mary rose from her slumped position against the wall, and then, suddenly remembering her absence asked, "Where's Ms. Hughes?"

"She went to have a chat with Mr. Crawley. He…ugh…wanted to know how your interaction with Quinn went to before he took the time to meet with you… Not wanting to waste time if it hadn't gone well." Anna looked at the floor, ashamed of her boss.

Mary laughed it off, truly not caring if Mr. Crawley didn't want to spend time with her. Her only beef with the man was that he didn't want to spend time with his adolescent daughter. "Well I guess he'll have to meet with me now if what you say is true about my successful interaction with his daughter."

"It was, and he will." Anna smirked at her and continued, "But, before you have to go head to head with Mr. Crawley, let me show you the rest of the house, which, for your purposes, really isn't too much more." Anna took a deep breath before launching into an architectural description of the penthouse. "Ok, we are currently on the sixty-second floor of The Pearl. As you can obviously tell, the entire outer walls are made out of a tinted glass, which gives us a spectacular 360-degree view of the city and lake, without baking us like a potato. The basic layout of the penthouse is very simple. It's really only a square, or perhaps rectangle is more accurate, with an elevator shaft in the very middle, and living area everywhere else. This hall," Anna indicated the corridor they were currently standing in, " and the hall that the kitchen is off of, are the sides of penthouse that are slightly longer than other two sides. With me so far?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

"Good. So, like I said, you've already seen half of the penthouse, and I will really only be showing you in one more room before you meet with Mr. Crawley in his office. You've seen the living room, that's the big room we were in when you first came, you've seen the dinning room, kitchen, family room, that was the room off the kitchen, and we passed by the porch on our way to Quinn's room." Anna paused, gathered her breath, and pointed back down the hall to the two doors they had passed on their way to meet Quinn. "That first door, the one closest to the porch, is a powder room…not too much to be said about that, and the door next to it, the one closer to us, is a laundry room, which you won't be using too much, if at all, because Elsie and I take care of all the laundry. However, the laundry room also is the entrance to a panic room which has never been used, and hopefully will never have to be used." This information caught Mary off guard, the idea of needing such a room shocking her, but she didn't have long to ponder on it because Anna suddenly pivoted and started walking deeper down the hall, and Mary had to walk briskly to keep up with her.

About three-fourths of the way down the hall Anna paused again in front of another door. "This," she explained, "Is the master bedroom, it's enormous, taking up almost twenty-five percent of the entire penthouse, and it's beautiful, but it's not relevant for your purposes so Ms. Hughes told me not to show it to you…sorry. Anyway," Anna continued walking, and after another ten or fifteen feet, turned right down another corridor, heading toward a solitary door placed half way down the hall, "the master bedroom sits on the southwest corner and takes up a good portion of the area on the other side of this wall." Anna indicated the wall to their left. The walls of this short corridor were also adorned with a variety of paintings and artistic photographs and Mary hoped that she would have the chance to really look at them all sometime. This penthouse featured more art than a lot of the gallery shows she had been to.

After another moment, Anna came to pause in front of the lone door. "Ok, this is the door to the larger guest room and will be where you sleep when you stay the night."

Mary cut in suddenly, "I told Ms. Hughes that I really don't like idea of staying over and working weekends. I'll always be present when I'm required, but I dislike the idea of 'being on call'. I need to have my own time and, once school starts up again, time to do my work and study. If it's only once or twice, or under a very special circumstance, that won't be a problem, but it can't be a regular thing."

"Well you can certainly try to negotiated something out with him but, just fair warning, he normally gets his way…so good luck." Mary thought she saw Anna roll her eyes as if saying that Mary would never get her way, but Anna didn't know that Mary was normally on the winning side of most arguments, whether they be in the bar or in the classroom.

"Still," Anna pressed on, "let's take a look, shall we?" She pressed her right shoulder against the door and slightly pushed against it while turning the curved handle and opening the door. Mary wondered whether she would ever get use to the assault of light on her corneas. Though she soon realized that this room seemed especially bright because it was decorated mostly in pure whites, rich, bright yellows, and deep browns. Again, the first thing Mary noticed was the breath taking view. This room sat on the northwest corner of the penthouse and offered her a clear view of most of the Chicago "Loop." Mary was quickly able to determine that this room had the best view in the house and she had no doubt that she could spend hours watching the city flow underneath her.

The room was grand and spacious and was outfitted with a king size bed, which sat against a wall to her left. The bed was adorned with a bright white down-comforter, white, oversized sleeping pillows, and variety of yellow throw pillows. Slightly above the bed, looking as if it were suppose to be a large headboard, hung an enormous photograph of a field of tall sunflowers at sunset. The picture stretched the entire length of the bed and stood three feet tall. The image was stretched across canvas, taken slightly above eye level, and was so crystal clear that Mary felt as if she were looking through a window into another realm. There was a small dark brown bedside table to the left of the bed and matching set of dark brown dresser and drawers sat against the inner wall to Mary's immediate right. Around the corner of the inner wall, along the northern side of the room, was a luxurious sitting area that featured a small but well stocked library, its selves built into the inner wall, a large three-person white couch and matching love set, and an enormous flat-screen TV set upon a dark brown open-entertainment center.

Mary noticed a break in the wall to the right of the bed and walked over to it, finding that it was the entrance to an enormous en suite bathroom. The bathroom was nearly the size of the bedroom and held all of the luxuries that Mary hoped would adorn her dream bathroom one day. The tile beneath her feet was checkered, alternating steel gray and black. The walls to her right were still made completely of glass, though its tint was much darker, leading Mary to assume that no one would be able to see into it even at night with the bathroom lights on. A double sink vanity set into dark marble countertops sat upon the wall to her left, and further down the same wall, a narrow door stood opened to reveal a privacy toilet and bidet. Still further down to the left, another door stood open revealing a large, empty walk in closet. Against the back wall was a large ivory colored Jacuzzi tub and an enormous rainfall, glass shower. The shower was placed into the corner of the back wall, the tub to its right and the glass window wall to its left making up one of its sides, so that when someone was in it, they could look directly out the window and down to the city streets below. Mary found this idea both thrilling and terrifying. Naked and showering, only a foot of glass separating her from a fall that would easily kill her.

Perhaps Mary wouldn't mind staying here more than every once in awhile. It would be like staying in a luxury hotel…it would be exactly like staying in a luxury hotel. Mary quickly pushed that thought aside. She must insist on having a clear time frame set for work and a clear time frame set for herself.

Mary turned and found that not only was Anna observing her, but Ms. Hughes was as well. Mary closed her mouth, unaware that it had opened in aw while observing the space. "This place…this whole house is absolutely stunning…Mr. Crawley has acquired a lot of worldly possessions." Mary hoped they understood her compliment and her insult. She knew that Anna did based on her small smirk but Ms. Hughes face revealed nothing. The older woman appeared to be lost in her own thoughts but she was the one that spoke next.

"Mary, I've just spoke to Mr. Crawley and he is ready to see you now." The atmosphere of the room shifted and Mary knew that this was really the moment that everything had been building up to. Her muscles tensed suddenly and she gave a quite gasp as her throat constricted. She knew that she wanted to give him a piece of her mind and scold him for ignoring his daughter, but now, actually facing the opportunity of being able to do so, Mary found her resolve faltering. She had looked into his eyes for mere moments and knew that he would be a very intimidating man. Ms. Hughes continued, "He's just in his study next door. We'll show you the way." Both women turned suddenly and before Mary knew what her feet were doing, she was following closely behind them.

They exited the bathroom and then the bedroom, continuing down the short hall before making another sharp right. Mary found herself to be growing more and more nervous with every step that she took. Her heart was pounding in her ears and despite desperately trying to think of things to say to him, her mind was perfectly, irritatingly blank. Mary saw in the distance the edge of the dinning room table, and knew that they were back on the northern side of the house. Ms. Hughes and Anna came to a sudden stop at the first door on the left. Mary finally found the unseen grandfather clock, which she had heard twice before. It stood to the right of the door. It was a foot taller than see was, made out of polished cherry wood, and its inner mechanics, face, and hands were all the color of the finest gold.

Ms. Hughes turned and address Mary in a quite, slightly trembling voice, revealing that she was perhaps just was nervous as Mary was. "This is Mr. Crawley's office. He'll have the final say in whether or not you get the position, although, I clearly expressed to him that I thought you would do a fabulous job."

Mary chest softened slightly as she was taken aback by the woman's kindness. "Thank you for that."

"Don't mention it my dear. I wouldn't have told him so, if I didn't believe it." The older woman smiled kindly at Mary and she felt a little more of the tension roll off her body.

"Good luck Mary." Anna spoke now and her voice was clear and confident, which again eased the tension in Mary's shoulders slightly. "I'm really pulling for you." Mary knew that Anna spoke the truth and her small smile produced a equally small smile from Mary as well. Before Mary could thank them again, the women turned at the same time and started walking down the hallway, before they turned left and disappeared into what Mary believed to be the kitchen.

Alone…Mary was alone. She felt the same crushing loneliness and escalating panic that she had felt as she exited the elevator, leaving William behind. In Anna and Ms. Hughes absence, the stress of the situation hit Mary like a truck. Again she had to tell herself to take slow, steadying breaths. She stood outside his door, as still as a statue, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only thing revealing that she was alive. Deeply in….slowly out…deeply in…slowly out. She tired to think of things that would ease her mind but failed miserably in the process. Deeply in…slowly out…deeply in…slowly out, just as Quinn had breathed over her shoulder while handing her crayon after crayon. Quinn…her angel's face permanently glued to her feet. Her small mouth never smiling, her beautiful clear eyes never sparkling with joy. Quinn, who needed her father but would have to settle for Mary in his absence. Quinn, who needed someone…who needed her. Quinn…

Mary's determination returned to her stronger than ever. She felt taller, lighter, and though her heart still hammered in her chest, it was from adrenaline not from fear. The man behind this door would not deny her the opportunity to care for his abandoned child. She lifted her right hand and gave two loud knocks, letting her enemy know that she was ready to battle him. She didn't bother taking in anymore steadying breaths because she no longer needed them. Her breathing was even, her head was held high.

She heard him loudly call to her on the other side of the door to come in. She didn't waste longer than a moment realizing how his deep voice felt like cool silk against her ears drums, before turning the door and entering into his office like she owned the place. He was standing next to a large mahogany desk, about thirty feet from where she stood in the doorway, and he was looking down at a several papers, fanned out in both of his large hands. She flung the door shut behind her, which issued a loud bang. It was much louder than she had intended it to be but the shock of it would not falter her determination and the pure purpose that drove her so confidently into the room.

Mr. Crawley looked up suddenly at the loud bang of the shutting door. Mary knew without a doubt that she hated the man. She hated him more passionately than she ever knew she was capable of. The feeling invigorated her and sickened her. Her skin tightened over her muscles and bones. Her breathing remained deep and even. She was a predator and he was her prey. She hated him. She hated his cowardice. She hated his wealth. She hated his superiority. She hated his weakness, his aversion, his vacancy, his selfishness.

As he looked up at her, his deep crystal blue eyes easily finding hers once more, Mary's bitter hatred of him, which had been surer than the morning mere moments before, wavered slightly. She hated him…she hated him…she…hated him? She knew that this was one of her defining life moments, something that would change her permanently, whether it be for the better or for the worse. Despite her valiant efforts to fight it, his intense gaze undid her where she stood. Her knees quaked, her breath caught, and Mary's heart caught fire in her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Matthew knew that it would be hell to have someone that beautiful working for him. Really, he should have sent her away the moment he laid eyes on her. He should have given her a polite, but completely fabricated, excuse for why he would no longer be requiring a nanny, and shown her the door as soon as he had locked eyes with her. That would have been the best thing to do—eliminate the distraction and possible conflict of interest immediately. That would have been the wise thing to do, but even now, hindsight in clear view, Matthew knew that he still would not have dismissed her.

Even now, completely alone in his office, he still felt immensely embarrassed. His cheeks burned red and he dropped his head to the floor in shame. He had acted like a prize idiot. He had gaped, quite boldly and unashamedly, at a possible employee. Even his own actions had surprised him. He was always so cool, so composed, but those wonderful business qualities that had enabled him attain millions of dollars, left his body when he saw her dark eyes set against her porcelain skin. He was left speechless and dumbstruck by her presence and he was certain that he could look into her eyes indefinitely. Her gaze felt white hot against his skin, burning him until there was nothing left of his former self. Who knows how many times Carson had to repeat himself on the phone before Matthew finally responded in the affirmative. Carson accepted the soft 'Yes' that left Matthew's trembling lips, but Matthew knew that his hypnotized mind had meant it to be an immediate acceptance of her. She was real and beautiful and a much needed shot of Novocain for his ever-aching soul.

Of course once he forced himself to break the silent communication with her, where nothing was said and everything was said, Matthew realized how foolishly he was behaving. Now, safe in the seclusion of his office, he grasped how he needed to regain control of himself and the situation. The woman was here to be an employee and not to be gawked at. He felt the red in his cheeks turn from one of embarrassment to a blush of shame. He hoped that he hadn't frightened her. She came with glowing recommendations from both the nanny agency and from her former employers and her personal resume bolstered an immense list of special skills and accomplishments that even Matthew was impressed with. He did not want to lose such a promising candidate. His research had shown Mary Crawley to be the best possible applicant available, at least on paper, and he wanted the best there was for his daughter.

His daughter…Matthew tasted a choking bitterness at the back of his throat and went into his well rehearsed mental berating of himself. His daughter was a shell of her former self and Matthew knew that he was the chief architect of her demise. He hated himself. He hated himself for the way his daughter never smiled or laughed. He hated himself for how he didn't know her and for how she didn't know him. He hated his own cowardice and pride. He hated his own weakness, his own aversion, his own vacancy, and his own selfishness. He hated how she would never have the privilege of knowing her mother and he hated how she could never know how he had attributed to her untimely death.

His own guilt rocked him to the core and a dry heave, only one of thousands to leave his body over the past couple years, violently shook his frame and left him doubled over, clutching the polished wood of his desk. He had never told anyone, except for the surgeon who had operated on Lavina and his own psychiatrist, the full story of her death. Whatever they had said, Matthew knew that he was responsible for her passing and the guilt of it weighed heavily upon him. It was his life's chains and he would wear them daily knowing that they were just. At first he could hardly stand being close to his daughter or feeling the smallest amount of happiness. Every time he looked at her, he could only see a girl ridded of her mother because of his own overconfidence and pride. His guilt was a terminal disease and it infected everything that he touched. Therefore, he justified his aversion to his daughter to himself by believing that it was the better choice of only two options—either she would hate him for enabling her mother's early death, or she would hate him for his distance. He could cope with the second option; he couldn't live with the first. He was a cursed man who harbored no bitterness to anyone except towards himself. He knew that he had forged his curses alone and Matthew accepted that they would slowly pull him down to the Hell he deserved.

Still, he had never meant for Quinn to collapse in on herself in the same way that he had. He had seen it happen slowly over the years. First it was the tantrums. Huge emotional blowouts where Quinn would be crying and screaming for no apparent reason. Then she stopped engaging actively with others. She no longer wanted to play with others, opting to spend more time in seclusion just as he had. Her lightheartedness and natural born jovialness left her around her fourth birthday, and, shortly after that, her imagination waned, and her laughter quickly followed. The last thing to go was her smile, and Matthew remained grateful that she had it for as long as she did. He remembers the last time he had seen it. It was about eight weeks ago, just before his mother had passed. The two were playing Candy Land one afternoon, and Matthew had observed them unseen from a distance. He guessed Quinn had won because his mother let out as much praise and congratulations as she could muster in her sick and weakened state, and a small, brilliant smile broke across his daughters face. He remembered how seeing it felt like he had been punched in the gut, the air quickly vacating his lungs, leaving behind a burning sensation. Her smile should have made him happy, seeing as how it was so rare, but image only made him sad. Well, sad and mad. First sad, that a thing as beautiful and as simple as her smile was so rare, and then mad at himself for all of his unforgivable mistakes.

A small knock on the door brought Matthew out of his bitter memories. He quickly readjusted himself and took a set in his large and high backed, burgundy leather chair behind his desk. He glued his eyes to the mess of papers, scattered on the desk's top and gathered some in his hands trying to look busy.

"Come in", Matthew called loudly, knowing the mostly sound proof walls of The Pearl had it's advantages, he couldn't hear Anna and Elsie while they cleaned and managed the house, and disadvantages, Anna and Elsie couldn't hear him when he called for them. He heard his office door open and did not bother looking up until it had quietly closed again.

Elsie stood in his office doorway, waiting for him to acknowledge her before she moved any deeper into the room.

"Yes Elsie," Matthew called to her, arranging the random mixture of papers in his hands into a neat pile and placing them on the edge of his desk to be properly looked at and sorted later, "What can I help you with?" He looked up at her, noticing how tired and solemn she appeared. His guilt was a plague upon this house.

"I've just come to give you the report of Ms. Crawley and Ms. Quinn's interaction." Her weary but pleasant voice matched her tired appearance.

"Oh yes," Matthew suddenly remembered that he had asked her to report to him on Mary and his daughter's first meeting. "Please have a seat." He gestured to one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk. He wanted to know exactly what had happened and how Quinn had responded to Mary, if she had responded at all. He had asked for Elsie's account of the meeting but he also just desperately wanted her opinion on Mary. Elsie was one of Matthew's oldest acquaintances and has had a front row ticket to the tragedies of the household. She had stood in the background of his life for so long and he had become dependent on her opinion in so many instances. She was a place of ever-solid ground in his life of perpetual turmoil and Matthew loved her because of it. Though Elsie kept an ever-present professional demeanor in his presence and managed their relationship so that he was always her superior, Matthew knew that she was aware of how much he depended on her, though she was kind enough to never let on to the wiser.

"Thank you Mr. Crawley." Elsie spoke as she sat herself in the soft chair across from him. Her posture remained straight and taut, her back never touching the back of the chair—ever the professional.

"I wish you and Anna would call me Matthew. I know that I employ you but we've known each other for years and we don't really have a business relationship… I know that Anna would call me Matthew but she follows your lead."

"If you really wish for me to call you Matthew than I will, but if you leave it up to me I'll continue referring to you in a professional manner." Always proper.

"Well that settles it," Matthew said in slightly exasperated fashion and raised his left eyebrow at her, "you know I'd never order you to do anything you didn't want to." Matthew paused for a moment considering her before launching into the real reason she had come into his office. He changed his demeanor, switching from one of a softhearted banter to his more familiar character of being somber and dejected.

"So…" he was unable to look her in the eye anymore and swiveled in his chair to face his left, facing the floor to ceiling wall of leather bound books but looking out the window further to his left, at the city skyline, "how did it go?" Matthew stared out the window without seeing anything; his thoughts were on his joyless daughter and how he no longer recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. Why did he even bother to ask how it went? He knew without a doubt that Mary would be unable to engage Quinn in any manner because she was a girl beyond anyone's grasp. Matthew settled deeper into his chair, readying himself for another incontrovertible disappointment. The sun would set on this day and Mary Crawley would have been unable to touch the well-guarded emotional borders of his tormented daughter.

Elsie adjusted her position and took in a deep breath, "It went…well."

Matthew's head whipped around to look at her, "What?" The word was whispered and rushed.

"Well it was all done very cleverly. She was able to get Quinn out of her house just by politely asking her to assist her with a drawing that she wanted to do. She then somehow convinced her to stay with her and draw her own picture, and they stayed like that for about fifteen minutes, not speaking at all, just sitting in content silence. Then Mary asked Quinn if they could trade pictures…Quinn stared at her a long time and then silently agreed. Then, Mary asked her if she could come back again and spend time with her and Quinn told her yes."

"She actually vocalized 'Yes'?" Matthew asked, bewildered and amazed. He felt a ghost of a smile flash across his lips, the seldom-used muscles feeling tight.

"Yes she did." A broad grin stretching across the woman's face, instantly making her look ten years younger. She looked to understand his questioning and astonishment. It was like hearing someone had touched the sun and returned unscathed. "The interaction was done very passively, Mary didn't say much and didn't engage with her too much either, but it was very successful all things considered…Mountains didn't move, but perhaps…the ground shifted slightly."

Matthew stared at her as if he were hearing another human voice for the first time. He had leaned toward her during her recount and his mouth hung, slightly slacked jawed. Elsie dropped her gaze and the dynamic of the room shifted once more, away from the comradeship they had experienced together mere moments before, and back to that of a superior and inferior. She twined and untwined her fingers together in her lap.

"I know that you haven't asked my opinion on the matter Mr. Crawley…"

Matthew cut her off, "You know I was seconds away from doing just that."

Elsie met his gaze once more and Matthew could tell that she was being very serious, "I think that it would be very wise to hire her for the position." She said it with such confidence and sincerity that Matthew found himself shuffling through the piles of paper on his desk, looking for the contract he had written up earlier in the week. Once it was in hand, Matthew looked up and saw that Elsie was standing.

"Should I go and fetch her then?"

Matthew nodded at her silently, feeling as though his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth. He felt suddenly very nervous and strangely giddy, a combination of emotions that he hadn't felt in years. He waited until Elsie had closed the door before he pushed himself away from his desk with the immediate desire to be mobile. He knew that he only had a few minutes to get himself in check, but he was so invigorated upon hearing of his daughter's successful (well perhaps successful was too strong of a word) interaction with another person, that he was unable to physically contain this new barrage of old emotions. He paced quickly, only covering the same five feet of polished wood in front of his desk. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and reminded his body of how it felt to be strong and fully alive. His mind was conjuring faded, dusty memories of his daughter laughing and playing, her head thrown back and joy radiating off of her with every movement, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Matthew allowed himself to hope that those memories could become reality again… someday. He continuously ran this hands through his hair, a nervous trait he had picked up years ago, enjoying the pleasant pressure of his fingertips against his prickling scalp. Every moment of his body felt enormous and grand. His heart pounded rapturously in his chest. He could hear the quick beating of it in his ears and he was sure he could feel his rib cage move with its continuous assaults, endlessly reminding him that he was indeed alive.

Matthew suddenly heard the sound of muffled talking coming from the other side of the door, and he halted his pacing in mid-stride. He was so blissfully happy at this moment that he wondered if he'd be able to stop himself from kissing the woman when she came through the door. He owed her everything already just for giving him hope that his daughter could possibly still have a happy life despite all of his previous mistakes. He should fall at her feet and beg for her to never leave.

A reminder of who he was suppose to be, a self-assured and strong man, slapped him across the face and he frantically tried to gather his wits about him. Matthew went around the edge of the desk and grabbed the same handful of papers that had seized when Elsie had entered, hoping to portray an easy confidence and cool manner that he did not feel. The voices suddenly faded and for several torturous moments Matthew stood as still as a statue beside his desk, papers fanned out in his hands, his slow inhales and exhales the only sound in the room. Deeply in…slowly out…deeply in…slowly out. To question why he was so nervous for their interaction barely touched his mind and a moment later, there were two startlingly loud knocks on his office door.

The knocks acted like the curtain rising on a Broadway play and Matthew's nerves, which had been powerful and debilitating enough to leave him trembling a moment before, suddenly vanished as the moment to perform presented itself to him. He easily found his familiar character, cool and collected, and saw his anxiety evaporate as though it had never been there. He stood tall and confident beside his desk and his breathing evened. "Come in." He called to her loudly and was glad to hear that his voice sounded steady and powerful. He kept his eyes glued to the papers in his hands, but saw out of the corner of his eye her tall, lean figure quickly enter his office. He took a second and slightingly prayed to not behave so foolishly again in her presence.

An impressively loud bang shook the air around him and he quickly looked up to see if she had been shot. But she stood tall just inside the door, her legs slightly spread balancing on impossibly high heals, her arms hung tightly by her sides, fists clenched and knuckles white, and her chest rose and fell quickly as if she had just finished a run. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips wet, and her dark ponytail hung slightly over her right shoulder. When Matthew first looked her into her impossibly dark eyes, he thought he saw a burning fury at play behind them, but the image was quickly replaced with a look that melted Matthew where he stood.

His breathing picked up and soon the steady rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of hers. 'Good Lord she was attractive.' She had the same slim figure and perfect facial features that a lot of the women who carelessly threw themselves at him had. It was well known that Matthew was a widower and worth hundreds of millions of dollars and so he often had to fight off beautiful women's advances. But Mary Crawley stood before him now and she was lovely and real, and she possessed a beauty that was all together different. Her gaze was just as intense and searing as it had been before, and Matthew felt frightfully and wonderfully exposed to her. A small part of him opened up again at her gaze, and he couldn't remember how to categorize the feeling of being both lighthearted and slightly nauseas at the same time.

She was the one to break eye contact this time, turning her head slightly to the right to stare out the open window behind him. Her jaw clenched and twitched, her eyes narrowed slightly, and she crossed her arms tightly in front of her under her breasts. She looked as if to be irritated with herself, and Matthew could understood why; he felt the same irritation with himself for allowing himself to be transfixed in her eyes again. Her slight movements broke the up the haze in the room and Matthew shuffled his feet uncomfortably unsure of how to carry on with their business after their second intense and loaded exchange in a single hour.

He held in his breath, tightened his gut and push forward against all of the discomfort in the room. After a pitiful attempt to clear his throat, Matthew gestured to the same chair that Elsie had sat in earlier and said through a forced smile, "Ms. Crawley, please do come in and have a seat."

Mary hesitated slightly by the doorway. Her look of irritation morphed into something that looked much more like biting anger. She still would not look at him and Matthew could see her jaw clench and unclench from across the room. Finally, with what looked like forced movements, Mary strode across the room and took a seat, crossing one long leg over the other. Her arms crossed over her torso and every inch of her body language screamed hostility. Matthew could understand her irritation with herself that the two of them seemed to be unable to look at each other without a barrage of obvious and embarrassing emotions crossing their faces, but he did not understand where her palpable anger was stemming from. He turned his back on her for a moment and strode around to the back of his desk, unbuttoning the single facet on his suit jacket as he walked, and seated himself uncomfortably in his normally very comfortable chair.

Convincing himself that it could have nothing to do with him, Matthew carried on, "Thank you for coming today." Why was he talking so loud? Matthew adjusted his tone and continued to address Mary who now seemed to be staring at his forehead. "I hope that Anna and Elsie were hospitable and helpful." Matthew raised his head slightly while speaking, attempting to look her in the eyes again, but Mary only adjusted her eyes to continue her staring match with his hairline.

"They were most helpful and hospitable, thank you." The words she spoke to his forehead were friendly and warm but her voice spoke them coldly. Matthew wasted only a second realizing how her voice was smooth and slightly deep but still entirely feminine before he continued.

"Good. I've read over your resume and your recommendations and I'm very pleased with what I see. Both are very impressive." Matthew meant it to be a nice compliment of her but Mary didn't acknowledge it in the slightest, she only continued staring at the spot above his eyes. Matthew was now completely puzzled by her hostility.

"And you've nannied for how many children?"

"Five."

"Excellent… And you've done it for…" Matthew took a moment to locate and then read her resume, "six years?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then," desperately trying to lighten the mood and crack through her icy exterior, "I guess it's safe to say that you enjoy it."

"I do."

Every one of Mary's responses to him was short, frigid, and directed to his forehead, and Matthew found himself getting more and more irritated with her with every passing second. He was trying hard to like her, especially given the small miracle she had worked with Quinn, but found it incredibly difficult to do so.

He indicated her resume once more, "And it says here that you only have one more year of graduate work before you graduate from DePaul University with a Master's in historical studies…May I offer you my early congratulations?"

"Thank you, sir." _Cold._

"Oh, please call me Matthew."

"Thank you, Matthew." _Freezing._

Matthew was now entirely irritated with her but tried to keep a level head and a sense of professionalism.

"I am also sure that Anna and Elsie have informed you of our situation and why, because of my busy work schedule, I require a caretaker for my daughter?" He had said it thinking that it would get some type of response from her. Most people tried to console him endlessly, to no avail, upon hearing of his wife and mother's passing.

"I have both been informed and seen for myself why a caretaker is necessary for Quinn." Her mouth moved but her eyes showed no emotion.

"Ok…good." Matthew hesitated slightly, fumbling through her words in his head, knowing that they held a double meaning. Eventually, the gist of her hard glare and tight body language slowly crept in on him. He continued, his words slow and carefully spoken, trying to fight against his swelling temper, "Elsie told me about your interaction with her…I was glad to hear that it went so successfully."

However, glad was the exact opposite of what Matthew was feeling. His brow was set in a straight line and mouth tightened against his teeth. He leaned in towards her intently; his irritation with her child-like behavior gnawing through his already stretched patience.

Mary responded, her voice calm and even, betraying none of the fear that Matthew was trying to instill in her. Again the words she spoke were not altogether unpleasant or harsh, but the way in that she spoke them felt as if she were slapping him across the face.

"Your daughter is a sweet girl… It's a shame that eye contact and one word from her lips is seen as a great accomplishment… Perhaps if she got the chance to engage with those closest to her more often she wouldn't feel led to leave such an emotional sheltered existence."

If the words were spoken in a different manner, Matthew might have found himself agreeing with her, but Mary's words were dripping with venom and she had found his jugular.

Matthew paused, now fully cognizant of why Mary Crawley was being so cold to him. He swallowed hard, his throat clenching tightly around air, and felt his vision start to blur with his rising anger. Feeling the pause in the room or perhaps the heat of Matthew's fury, Mary finally lowered her gaze and looked him in the eyes. The electric spark that charged the first two times they had looked at one another was replaced by a mutual dislike. The temperature of the room dropped as the sun hid behind a thick formation of clouds, giving everything in the room a slightly gray hue. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. Matthew knew that Mary saw him as an unfit and neglecting father, and he found himself feeling shamed, angry, embarrassed, tense, and defensive all at the same time. His fury must have been obvious but Mary never coward at the sight of it. Her eyes remained fixed on his and it was easy to see that she was just as consumed with anger as he was.

"What?" Matthew spat the word at her. He felt his anger surge through him, reaching his toes, fingertips, and the top of his skull.

Mary still did not quake at the sight of his anger but remained perfectly neutral, her eyes bore fixedly into his. Matthew was envious of how calm and steady her voice was as she responded. "For some reason you ignore your daughter. And she suffers because of it…sir."

"How dare you." His voice tense and strained.

Finally, her voice betrayed emotion and she spoke passionately as if they were the last words she would ever utter. "I only speak on behalf of a child who has lost her voice… along with her joy and lightheartedness…and her spirit… and her capability to love others as she should be loved by you."

He felt his jaw fall open and his eyes widen in shock. Matthew knew that he could throw her out then and there and he would never have to be a victim of her judgment again. She had insulted him as no one had ever before and he was dumbstruck because of it. His mouth moved but no words came out. His eyes roomed across her face, her furrowed brow, tight lips, and glossy eyes brimming with passion-induced tears, but Matthew couldn't settle one feature to look at. His hands clenched, he fidgeted in his seat, and he twisted his neck this way and that trying to physically fight off the loaded truth she had unleashed on him. She called him out on one of his life's biggest regrets and the sting of her knowing his greatest flaw attacked his brain and spine leaving him numb but still somehow able to feel the combined attack of her loathing and his own passionate self-hatred.

Then it hit him, and he knew the truth of the matter…Mary Crawley's fury was just. He deserved her criticism and her hate. He was a worthless father to an innocent child who could never know the whole truth of why her father distanced himself from her. Just as Quinn should hate him for his aversion, Mary should as well. He felt another dry-heave leave his stomach and focused all of his energy on keeping Mary from seeing it. He blinked, breaking their gaze again, looking at the papers in front of him again. It comforted him slightly to know that even though Mary Crawley was sure to hate him with the burning fury of a thousand suns, her hate was nothing compared with the way he detested himself. Matthew even respected her for hating him so boldly, knowing that if she already disliked him for his innumerable mistakes with Quinn, then she would certainly be an excellent care-taker for his daughter. Her instinct to protect his child from the monster that he was eased his ravaged heart.

"I can see how you view me as a father and I can tell you that your assessment is completely correct." He spoke the words quietly, his head still inclined towards his desk and his eyes shut. The words fell from his lips easily even though he had never said them out loud to another living soul before. "…Quinn deserves something that I am unable to provide for her, and I can easily see that you will serve her well." He looked up at Mary then and saw that her eyes had softened slightly at his confession and her lips were relaxed and somewhat parted. "Perhaps you can resurrect my daughter from the dead and protect her fragile heart from her useless father."

Mary's eyes softened more and Matthew could see her tightly wound body physically loosen. She no longer glared at him and he noticed her eyes slowly traveled across his seated form before finding the same pile of messy papers on his desk that he had stared at moments before. The tension in the room was replaced with discomfort at Matthew's spoken acknowledgement of her dislike. Nothing was said for a long time, and Matthew could only hear her slow breathing.

He was finally able to look at her closely and discovered that her physical beauty was both unique and striking, but mostly heartbreaking lovely. Her brows were dark and they arched highly over the planes of her perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Her nose was straight and her lips were full and the line of her neck plummeted into the soft-white skin of her chest.

Eventually, Mary raised her eyes to his once more and every trace of the hatred that had glowed in her eyes minutes before had vanished. Her eyes shined brightly and they were full of an unsaid comprehension of their situation. They looked at one another and Matthew was sure that a mutual understanding was known between them. She would know that he hated himself for Quinn's condition just as much as she did; and he would know that she would do everything in her power to try and fix his mistakes. Perhaps with that shared understanding, the two of them could co-exist together and be OK. Their relationship with one another would be dysfunctional, tense, and highly irregular; but it would be a system that _had_ to work if Quinn was to be saved.

Mathew once again broke through the thick tension in the room. His voice was calm now but it still sounded defeated. "I guess before we go any further I should inquire whether or not you actually want the position? Especially now that you are fully aware of the…situation."

Mary only paused momentarily. "I do want it…" lowering her gaze again to her hands in her lap, "very much."

"OK, I'm very glad to hear it… Well, let's discuss the finer subjects of the contract." Matthew handed her a copy of a two page legal contract that he had written the previous morning. He had written it plainly, knowing that the finer facet of the practice of law was not something that 99% of the population understood. "Read it over and please speak up if there is anything that you would like to discuss."

Mary scanned the first page quickly and flipped it over to the second page soon after; her eyes scanned the page rapidly as if looking for something particular. Eventually she must have found it because her eyes slowed and they slid from left to right at a more normal reading pace.

After a moment's pause Mary and said, "I would like to discuss the 'overnight clause'. It says," Mary read straight from the contract, 'Ms. Mary Crawley will be required to spend the entirety of a weeknight or full weekend (including normally scheduled hours on Friday day in addition to overtime hours of all of Friday evening, Saturday day, Saturday night, and Sunday day) with Quinn on days requested by Mr. Matthew Crawley provided that he gives her a full two days notice prior to staying a week night and a full weeks notice prior to staying a weekend.' Mary stopped reading and looked up at him, "Unfortunately, that is just not going to cut it for me. That is an entirely too open statement and I feel that if I agree to these terms, I will be signing away all of my own time that I require for personal matters and for school. I truly don't mind spending a weekend or night every once in a while if it is needed but…I simply cannot agree to this as it is written."

Matthew pondered her words for a moment and rejoiced at the feeling of being in the familiar territory of a contract negotiation. He couldn't help but feel confident at the obvious home-field advantage that he had over her in this department. "Ok…that's fair enough. How about I change the contract to something more on the terms of you only being legally obligated to _possibly_ stay three nights a week and _possibly_ stay every other weekend."

"That is still the _possibility_," Mary emphasized the word as he had, "of requiring eight out of fourteen nights…over half. I'm sorry but no."

"Two nights a week and every other weekend."

"Six out of fourteen nights, nearly half." She shook her head silently from left to right.

Matthew was starting to get slightly frustrated with her again. "You do know that I'll pay you handsomely for your troubles and you've seen your accommodations…I think you'll be very comfortable here."

"Yes, I know I would be and you are already paying me handsomely for regular hours… so, I just can't justify putting a price tag on my own free-time and my own life."

Matthew's demeanor shifted again and his voice was quite and weighted down by his own shame, "But you've seen how desperately Quinn needs a caretaker."

Mary paused considering and Matthew was glad to see that her anger did not return. She spoke quietly too, mirroring his somber image, "Yes I have…but I'll be here for her 90% of the time she's awake this summer…Perhaps you could _try_ to be there for her the other 10% of the time, Matthew."

He immediately fell in love with the way she said his name. It was as if he had never heard it spoken before. He silently willed her to say it again just so he could watch her mouth move around it; her lips would open on the first syllable and puckered on the second. He was just on the verge of asking her to stay for dinner, when Mary continued.

"Besides, if you go with your own logic, you'd need a stay-in nanny, and…" she looked away from him again, back to her hands folded in her lap, "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much."

Well that news shocked him out of his dream like state. He felt his heart sink down to his stomach and give a single irritating thump. He discovered that he was more than slightly bothered by the information. He was sure that she could feel his disappointment, because she looked at him again and for a moment the shared the same knowing and intense gaze that they had shared twice before.

Matthew quickly recovered, feeling his face warm from an entirely different type of embarrassment. He tried to play it off coolly and responded with false interest and fake happiness, "Oh, you have a boyfriend? Wonderful." His voice broke slightly on the last word making him flush even more.

Mary was kind enough to ignore his squeak and responded in the affirmative, "Yes, we've been together for about three years and living together for the past 10 months."

That was another enormous blow to the gut. Matthew was unable to speak and he only nodded his head up and down slowly, hoping that his face did not look as foolish as he felt.

"So…" Mary pushed on looking at him expectantly. She paused, waiting for him to speak.

Matthew stammered and looked about the room unknowingly, completely at a loss of what Mary was expecting him to say. He was sure that he looked like a total fool but, wreck his brains with all his might, he had completely lost track of their conversation since she had unloaded that bombshell on him.

"I'm sorry?" Matthew responded, eyes wide with total confusion.

Matthew then saw a small tug at the corner of Mary's mouth and before he had a chance to take another breath, a full, open-mouth smile broke across her face, transforming her into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes crinkled at the sides and her cheeks gave way to small dimples. Her mouth was wide and her skin flushed slightly, giving her face a small amount of beautiful color. Matthew wondered if someone could match and bottle the color of her flushed skin. If so he would paint all of the walls of his house in the color of her smiling face and waste hours of his life staring at it. He immediately felt like a younger man and couldn't stop returning her smile with one of his own. The last time he had smiled like this must have been months ago, and his facial muscles felt tight, but he couldn't wash the stupid grin from his face while he stared intently at hers.

"We were discussing the 'overnight clause'… You had offered two week nights and every other weekend and I had shut you down once again, with a well thought out and flawless argument."

Was she flirting with him? Surely not…but…maybe.

"OK, OK," Matthew raised both arms in the air in mock surrender, while laughing, "This is my final offer Ms. Crawley…" the lightheartedness of the room subsided slightly, "…how about I _require_ your presence in my home for a full evening once a week, let's say every Wednesday night, and I also _require_ your presence every other weekend."

Mary paused considering, though a small grin still remained on her lips, much to Matthew's delight. "How about every four weeks?"

"Every other weekend."

"Every three weeks?"

"Every. Other. Weekend."

"And you'll still 'reward me handsomely'?" Mary raised her hands to etch the quotations in the air.

"Most handsomely."

Mary paused and directed her gaze out the back window again. She seemed to be considering it thoughtfully and Matthew was pleased to see it; really he was willing to throw the whole 'overnight clause' out the window if it was really a make or break point for her. He _had_ to have her…for Quinn.

"Mandatory every Wednesday and every other weekend?" Mary asked clarifying once more.

Matthew nodded silently, the anticipation eating away at his insides.

"Agreed." Mary smiled widely again and Matthew was please to find that she seemed to be just as happy with the agreement as he was.

"Great." Matthew beamed at her, making absolutely no attempt to hide his joy. "I'll go ahead and make those changes to it now." He swiveled in his chair to the right of his desk where an enormous iMac computer sat. He quickly opened the document and started rewording the clause. "Was everything else agreeable for you?"

"Yes I think so. During the week, except for the newly agreed upon Wednesday hours, I'll be here from eight in the morning until Quinn falls asleep or seven at night, which ever comes first, all throughout the summer. And when she and I go back to school in the fall, I'll need to be available from two in the afternoon to pick her up from school until eight in the evening. The end date of the contract it fine too. I believe that it's a week after my graduation date but that is not a big deal because who knows if I'll actually have a job in my field by then. Your requirements and expectations and all of that business are pretty much in line with what my previous families wanted too."

"Great." Matthew finished typing and turned the monitor towards her so she could get a look at the changes he had made to the contract. She must have been unable to see it properly still, because she suddenly rose from her set and lean over his desk. Her movements placed her within a few feet of the monitor and an equally short distance away from where he sat.

While she read the newly typed lines of the contract, Matthew kept his eyes fixed on the silhouette of her face. He was closer than he had ever been to her before, and now with less than an arm's reach separating them, Matthew could clearly see a series of small horizontal lines etched into her skin at the corner of her eye. Matthew was sure if she were to smile again, the folds of her skin would match up perfectly with those small lines, thus creating her crinkle-eyed smile. He silently thanked God that Mary Crawley did posses some physical flaw, though he was already finding her more attractive because of it. Thankfully, Mary took her set again before she turned to look at him once again. Matthew was unsure what embarrassment might have found him if he had locked eyes with her with only his desk between them.

"That looks to be correct."

"Great, let me just run a few copies for us to sign."

Matthew, pressed print and heard the slow moan as his printer rose from its slumber. Why was it that with all of his money and resources, he was still unable to find a personal computer printer that didn't take at least two minutes to print a single sheet of paper? The room fell into uncomfortable silence and Matthew found himself staring at her blankly again. She looked at him and Matthew quickly looked away, trailing his eyes across the books that ran along his walls, trying to seem as if he was not just staring a whole through her a minute ago. He realized that he would have to resort to small talk so that he wouldn't find himself gaping at her for no reason again.

"So…you're a historical studies major? That's very interesting and I have always enjoyed reading history… What area do you study?"

"Mainly European history beginning in the twentieth century…post World War I really." Mary answered him kindly, playing along with his game of small talk.

"Fascinating…any idea about what you want to write your dissertation on?" Matthew finally heard his printer suck in the first page of paper.

"I've got a few ideas but I haven't settled on anything yet. I'm considering doing something on how both World Wars forever changed the aristocratic makeup of England but I haven't been able to wrap my head around the idea yet."

"Fascinating."

And they fell into uncomfortable silence once more; the only sound in the room was the printer's slow mechanical song. Matthew chuckled once, humorlessly, at their current predicament. This meeting with her had experienced so many emotional highs and lows—intense glares, passionate hatred, mutual understanding, and light flirtation and now they both sat in a bored silence.

Thankfully, the printer finally came to a stop and Matthew nearly jumped out of his chair to gather the warm papers in his grasp. He then sorted out the two separate copies, aligned their edges and placed a single staple in the left hand corner of each set. He then turned back to her and found that she was also standing, her black leather bag rested against her left hip and her hands were intertwined her front of her. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile and Matthew realized once again that he was staring at her. Shaking his head slightly to clear his mind, Matthew walked around the front of the desk to stand beside her. He realized that with her high heels on, they were nearly the same height; she was perhaps only a single inch shorter than him but their eye lines matched almost perfectly.

He then bent and placed the two identical copies of the contract side-by-side on his desk and flipped them both open to the second page. He grabbed the nearest pen and took the first initiative by sloppily signing his name and scratching out the date on the top line of both copies, before he turned to hand the pen off to her. He dropped it into her outstretched palm, not daring to touch her skin. Mary's signature was much prettier, a combination of pleasant lopes and hard lines. While she leaned over to write, her ponytail swung entirely over her right shoulder, blocking her face but exposing the back of her exquisite neck. Matthew felt a sudden urge to run the back of his finger across her exposed skin, wanting to know if it felt as smooth and silky as it looked. He slowly began to raise his left hand, indenting to do what his heart desired. Once his hand it had gotten to about the height of his chest, Mary suddenly placed the pen back on the desk and turned to look at him. Her movement snapped him out of his trance and he recovered poorly by swatting at the air, trying to hit a non-existent fly. Mary gave him a perplexed look but didn't seem to be bothered with it too much.

"OK," Matthew bent and grabbed both copies, "Here is one for your records," he handed one off to her, "and I'll keep the other for my own records." Matthew suddenly realized that their time together was ending and he found himself disappointed at the idea. "I'll notify security and the front desk of everything and when you come on Monday they should have an ID and a set of key cards for you…Sorry in advance for Thomas, he's good at his job but he's a bit of a prick."

This comment earned him another large, beaming smile from her. "I've already noticed."

He found himself smiling again, "Did you have any other questions for me?"

"No, I think between you, Anna, and Ms. Hughes, all of my inquires have been answered."

"OK…well then," Matthew gazed at her for another moment, entrapped and not wanting to move from where he stood before her. He felt the same burning intensity make its way up through his chest and out through his eyes, connecting with her body and wrapping tightly around her. His eager gazed was matched by her own passionate stare and, while they stood so close to one another, mere feet separating them, Matthew was sure he could feel the pleasant heat rolling off of her body in waves. He wanted to lived in those waves, set up camp and never leave pleasant shadow of her body. He licked his lips, noting their sudden dryness and saw her mirror his movements. He mind raced, images flashed across his vision, and he was sure that she must have been having the same stupid and inappropriate thoughts. He suddenly took a step toward her; as sure as he had ever been before in his life, that he no longer wanted the few feet to separate the space between their tense bodies.

But Mary broke with his gaze suddenly, looking down at her feet, her cheeks a burning red. "I'll be off then…thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Crawley."

"Please call me Matthew." Feeling just as embarrassed as she was. "I beg you not to follow Elsie's lead."

Matthew paused, gathering his thoughts, wanting his next words to equally portray his gratitude and fear, "I've made countless mistakes over the past years…and wrongly they have infiltrated every facet of my retched life, paying special attention to my innocent daughter. I am unable to tell you of my greatest sins because words can do them no justice… The reason I keep my distance is to protect her from an unspeakable truth…Know that it pains me more than you could ever grasp to see her so joyless and alone…Believe it or not her happiness and wellbeing are my top most concerns and therefore… you will be of great importance, not only to her but to me as well. Come to me with any problem. My door will always be open to you, Ms. Crawley."

Mary stared at him, her lips slightly parted, the shock in her eyes evident across the rest of her face. Eventually she was able to spatter a coherent response, "Thank you…Thank you for your honesty and kindness. I know Quinn will be a challenge but…I feel like I can make a difference in her life."

Matthew did not respond with words, he only inclined his head slightly towards her and made a small bowing movement with his torso.

Mary gave him one last loaded look before turning and striding towards his office door. Matthew felt a chill trace up his spine at the loss of her warmth from his side. He turned and watched her go, wanting to memorize the movements of her body. Once Mary reached the door she paused momentarily, before slowly lifting her left hand, placing it on the handle, and turning her head and torso around so that he could look fully into her eyes once more.

"And Matthew," Mary called back to him and his knees slightly buckled at the sound of his name on her lips again. Matthew saw her eyes wonder across his face, seeming to memorize the lines is skull and the curvature of features. She moistened her lips once more and accessed his soul through his eyes one last time before speaking with all of the seduction of a Siren's song, "…you can call me Mary."

He was the first one to smile this time. His eyes narrowing as his cheeks bunched beneath them. Her responding smile was more of a knowing smirk and Matthew found it devastatingly adorable. She turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped through it, but before she closed it completely, she popped her head back through, raised one perfect eye brow at him and said in manner that could only be described as flirtatious, "I'll see you Monday." She then retracted her head, trying but failing to hide her smile, and closed the door behind her.

Matthew's smile didn't leave his face for a few more moments and once it was gone it was replaced with a look of total astonishment with the woman he had just encountered. He strode around the back of his desk in a completely star-struck manner, continuously sliding his fingers through his thick hair, his mind buzzing with thousands of images of Mary Crawley. He plopped himself down lifelessly at his desk chair, his body slouched, legs spread open, and arms hanging off the sides of the arm rests. He was exhausted and elated.

"Mary…Mary…Mary…" he whispered her name over and over again into the emptiness of the room, liking how it tasted on his tongue and rejoicing in the knowledge that he would get to see her again so soon and then nearly everyday that followed.

"Mary…


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you all so much for your continued support. I enjoy reading your reviews and messages and am so please that many of you seem to be enjoying my story. Sorry about the longer delay in updating. I took a week off from writing and then struggled for a couple more weeks trying to write this chapter, but I ended up being fairly please with how it turned out. Thanks again and enjoy chapter 5. Cheers._

Her drink burned her throat but she was still able to finish it in three large gulps. She pushed the clear glass away from her, which now only contained four large cubes of frozen water and a small amount of blush colored liquid that she was unable to tilt down her gullet. The warmth of the alcohol quickly spread from her throat to her chest and extremities and she let out a relieved and heavy sigh. Alcohol was one of the few substances on earth that could be physically cold but would still chemically burn. A small, sparking drop of condensation rolled down the smooth clear glass of her empty drink and silently hit the old and roughly polished wood of the bar in front of her.

Mary looked up and saw the look of impression on both Bates and Sybil's faces. Their expressions matched one another's perfectly—both sets of eyes were open wide, both of their eye brows were raised high upon their crinkled foreheads, and both of their mouths hung open, gawking at her for finishing her double vodka and cranberry in no more than five seconds. Mary had entered her favorite neighborhood pub, not even pausing to acknowledge Branson as he cleared and wiped the table closest to the entrance, and made a direct line to where Sybil sat at the bar chatting with Bates. Mary had eyes only for the crimson-colored, chilled drink that sat next to Sybil. She had requested for her sister to order her 'usual', via text, and, now with it in clear sight, Mary didn't even taken the time to sit down before quickly grasping the small tumbler and downing its contents.

"Good evening Mary." Bates addressed her warmly with undisguised humor in his gravely voice, as she finally sat down with an exhausted plop next to Sybil. "Would you like another?"

"Yes please." Mary said with another heavy sigh. Bates gave her a knowing smile and turned to grab the bottle of Three Olives off the second shelf before tilting more than a generous amount of the clear liquid into the glass's bottom.

"Wow Mary." Mary turned toward her baby sister to see that Sybil's look of astonishment had turned in to one of friendly humor at Mary's obvious stress and exhaustion. Sybil continued with a large smile on her full lips, "I know that you normally enjoy your vodka-crans but I'm not sure I've ever seen you take pleasure in one so much…Long day?"

Bates placed Mary's refreshed drink in front of her, "This one's on the house…I can tell that you need it."

Mary raised her drink to him and said through a tired exhale, "Thanks Bates… Here is to your continued good health."

Mary took another long pull at her drink but left slightly more than half of the red tinted liquid in the glass before turning back to Sybil. She placed her right elbow on the bar's scratched surface and tilted her head so that her right cheek rested easily in her cupped hand.

"Sybil my dear, I've had a long eleven days."

"I can tell. How's our tormented angel?"

Mary checked the time on her phone, "Actually, if you don't mind I'd like to wait until Ed gets her. She texted me a few minutes ago and said she would be here soon. I know she'll want to know and I just don't think I have the energy to explain twice. In fact, she asked me to order her drink… Bates." Mary called to her favorite bar tender and ordered Edith's usual rum and diet.

"Ok. I don't want you to pass out from physical exhaustion on me." Sybil laughed sarcastically.

"It's not that I'm physically exhausted as much as mentally taxed. I'm losing so much sleep because my brain won't turn off at night. I'm constantly trying to figure out a way to break through to her and I'm continuing to come up short." Mary let out another long and frustrated sigh and Sybil rubbed her back soothingly.

"Alright, just take a moment and try to turn off your mind for a bit."

Bates returned a moment later with Edith's drink in one hand and another plain diet coke for Sybil. Sybil was still only 20 but was allowed in the pub because Mary was on such friendly terms with the owner.

Sybil thanked Bates and continued to address Mary, "But you know that you're not getting out of here with out telling us how your first two weeks went."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that and it hasn't been two full weeks yet," Mary said through a yawn. "You and Ed are like mom and Gran, always wanting the finest details."

After leaving The Pearl last Saturday afternoon, Mary headed straight to her sisters' Lincoln Park apartment to give them a full account of her day's events. Mary told them all about the plagued household, including the tale of the two departed women and the two surviving but severally wounded individuals remaining. She told them of the joyless girl and her haunted father and how Mary knew that her task would be the most arduous experience of her life to date. Sybil and Edith's shared hatred of Matthew Crawley came as easily as Mary's first had upon hearing about Quinn's situation, and despite Mary's best attempts to quell their anger and explain that Matthew was just as disgusted with himself as they all were, her sisters would not listen to her. In truth, Mary still had a hard time defending Matthew to others; she still placed all of blame for Quinn's depression and sadness entirely on his shoulders, but it was hard to hate someone for something when they already loathed themselves for the same reason. Mary would best describe her feelings towards Matthew Crawley as being in a constant state of disappointment with the man; she didn't hate him, she wasn't really even mad at him, but she was constantly frustrated and shamed by his actions.

Of course, Mary's account to his sisters did not include how she personally felt about the man during their brief encounter. She did not tell him how hansom and virile she had found him, or how she felt an immediate and ethereal bond linking him to her, or how she had lusted after his tall and lean form. She did not include how her body felt white hot and alive while trapped in his gaze; or how her skin had tingled pleasantly and that her blood had rushed to chest, like a blazing fire, when he slowly moistened his lips. She did not mention how he smelled of sweet cream, green mint, relief, masculinity, and something like home; or how she felt as if she could permanently reside beneath his chin or perhaps dwell endlessly next to his right hip. And she certainly did not tell her sisters how easily she could have pressed her lips against his, slowly but passionately, and would not have felt any shame in doing so until hours later.

To deny that she was attracted to him would be a lie, but to do anything about it would be a delusional dream and an enormous mistake. How could she even fantasize of tasting Matthew Crawley, when his actions concerning his young daughter sickened her to the core, consuming her days and haunting her nights? Therefore, she would admire him from a distance—appreciate the view but never jump the fence and enter the grounds of his tortured and mutilated mind.

Thinking of him always left Mary feeling confused and irritated, so she quickly changed the subject, "How's school going Sybil?"

"Fine I guess." Sybil responded dejectedly, "I'm seriously second guessing my decision to take summer classes."

"You know if you wouldn't have mom and dad would have made you come home for the summer."

"I know, I know. And I wanted to stay up here, but my brain feels fried… I really only had one long weekend of peace before the start of the summer semester."

"I understand, but at least at this pace you'll be able to graduate a whole year early and that means med school is one year sooner." Mary said the last sentence with the intent to lift her spirits but Sybil remained gloomy.

"Yay, more school." Sybil said quietly.

"Are you second guessing your decision to do pre-med?"

"No, I'm not. It's always been my dream to be a doctor…I just want some time to breathe before I go. I'm thinking of taking a gap year like you did."

"Well you know that I loved my time abroad but I had the money to do it. Do you?"

"No" sighed Sybil sadly. "You know my school schedule is too packed for me to work."

"Well, then I think you have you answer darling."

Sybil's shoulders slumped and she began idly stirring her drink with her straw, lost in her own thoughts. Mary understood Sybil's restlessness and she wished that her sister could add a little bit of fun and excitement in her life, perhaps even someone special to make her laugh and smile.

A moment later, Edith entered, talking loudly on her cell phone. She walked up to where they sat, and gave Mary and Sybil an apologetic smile and mouthed a silent 'sorry' to them both. Edith picked up her drink, took a long drag from the straw, and rolled her eyes at something that was said on the other end of line.

"Well tell Tony that we won't have the specs done until the end of next week. That was the deadline he gave us originally, so that's when it'll be done."

Mary heard the muffled, disembodied voice of an unknown female for a moment before Edith spoke again.

"It won't be late, but it won't be early. If he wanted it earlier then he should of planned for that…Yeah… Listen, I've got to go. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Without a second's hesitation she disconnected the line and turned to Mary and Sybil and said, "Sorry 'bout that ladies. How's it going?"

"I'm slightly depressed and Mary's sanity is hanging on by thread. How are you?"

"Stressed. Anthony is breathing down my neck for no good reason." She sat herself down in the empty set to Mary's right. "He told me that we would have four weeks to finalize the design and specifications, so he shouldn't be riding my ass for not having it done yet. I've still got…what day is it?"

"Thursday." Mary replied tiredly while pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, trying to relieve the pressure against her head.

"So I've still got," Edith paused to count the days, "Eight days. There is no need for him to get his panties in a bunch."

"Your still fairly new there Ed," Sybil said warningly. "It hasn't even been a full year yet. You had better behave yourself."

"Oh, I'm not that worried. I do good work and Tony knows if he threatens me too much I'll leave without hesitation and have another job in the same hour." Edith gave a small knowing smile that made Mary feel as if she were missing a large piece of information. "He's stressing me out, but I've got Anthony Strallan wrapped around my little finger."

"Well aren't we a miserable group." Mary added while finishing her second drink and motioning for Bates to make her another one.

"That's true." Edith added still speaking to Mary, "but you're the one with the most interesting life currently. Tell me, how's our fallen angel and her devilish father?"

Mary ignored her slight on Matthew, knowing it was a lost cause, "She's much the same really. Distant, aloof, troubled…scared…as cold as ice but still sensitive to the wishes of others. There's only been a handful of times when she has denied a request I've made of her, and that's a small miracle for any five year old." Mary looked up at her sister's slowly, and she appreciated how intently they were listening to her. "Tragic. That's still the best way to describe Quinn Crawley."

Her sister's must have seen the way Mary's body crumpled slightly at the mentioning of Quinn's name, for the demeanor of the their small atmosphere changed. Edith's stare faltered slightly and Sybil looked down at her drink. For the past thirteen days, Mary felt as if she were physically weighed down by her worry over Quinn and her frustration with her father. Mary noticed how she had taken to walking the streets with her head down at her feet, and how tired she looked in the mirror most mornings, and how she had generally become a much less happy person. The three sisters sat in heavy silence for moment, their separate minds chasing their own thoughts.

Edith's curiosity eventually broke through the silence, "What do you do with her all day?"

"Mostly things that require very little interaction, like drawing, or watching a movie, or reading a book… Oh, and the other day I figured out that she likes to watch me play video games."

A small smile broke across Mary's face at the happy memory. On Monday, she had discovered that the family room contained all sorts of gaming consoles— Play Station, Wii, and Xbox but also several older consoles like a Game Cube, Sega, and, much to Mary's delight, an old Super Nintendo. After locating her favorite child hood game, unwinding the dusty remote control cord, and asking Anna to help her locate the right channel, Mary started a new game. She was instantly transported back to her childhood and one day in particular stood out clear in her mind. She was ten and Ed was eight and for one whole snowy Saturday, they sat in the upstairs den in their pajamas and played the game from start to finish on an old ten-inch TV screen. Mary was pleased to find that her hands still easily remembered the controller and, after a few warm-up levels, her fingers pressed all of the right buttons almost without conscious effort. When Mary started playing, Quinn sat on the couch behind her but as she progressed through the game and the hours ticked by, Quinn slowly made her way down onto the carpet beside her. During the final boss battle, Quinn's right arm was flushed against Mary's left, both of their bodies leaned toward the TV in excitement and anticipation, and both of their eyes were glued to the giant screen. When Mary had beaten the final level, she wrapped her left arm around the girl's small frame and hugged her close to her side, unaware of her blissful actions. To Mary's relief Quinn did not push away. She did not respond in kind but she allowed herself to hugged tightly and that fact made Mary's heart leap for joy. Quinn looked into Mary's smiling face and though she did not return the smile, her eyes looked less haunted. Monday was a good day.

However, Mary's reprieve from her misery lasted for only a moment longer because she quickly remembered what had occurred yesterday.

"Wednesday was a complete disaster though." Her mouth had suddenly gone dry and she took a small slip from her drink before explaining. "Like I said, most of the stuff we had done required very little interaction, which is fine because I know that she's frightened of it and I'm not expecting her to have an enormous break through in only the second week, but I still wanted to try something a little different. So, after lunch I suggested to her that we go for a walk or maybe to the park, just enjoy being outside in the fresh air." Mary paused, let out an exasperated sigh, and tried to rub the tension from her own neck. "I didn't think it would be pushing her too far but, just at the suggestion, Quinn had a complete meltdown. I've only ever heard her speak in short whispers but I can now tell you that her voice works just fine." Mary remembered the way she had screamed, her small face reddening, and tears pouring down her round checks in waves. "She ran into her play house, refusing to come out even to eat. I was only able to go in there and get her, which was no easy task by the way, after she had fallen asleep on the floor. I put her to bed still dressed in her day clothes out of a fear of waking her."

Mary decided against telling her sisters how the girl did wake up shortly after Mary had placed her in bed. She still doesn't know whether or not Quinn knew that she was watching over her from the rocking chair across the room, but she does know that she watched the girl cry silently for a long time, tremors of pain and sadness rocking endlessly across her tiny frame as she lay curled into a small, tight ball. Eventually, Quinn's tears subsided but Mary picked up where she had left off. Tears flowed steadily from Mary's eyes for hours, each making their own unique path down her checks, rolling off the edge of her jaw, and disappearing into the dark fabric of her shirt.

Mary sighed again, "So I guess I can add agoraphobic to the list. Anyway, I stayed with her until a little past mid-night and then made my way to my room for the rest of the evening."

"Oh yeah," Sybil spoke now and her raspy voice remained quite despite the escalating noise in the bar, "what's it like staying there?"

"Ok…it's like staying in a fancy hotel. Although, I don't sleep well and that's saying something considering I'm sleeping horrible at my home too. But I guess I've never slept well some place new. I'll just have to get use to it." Mary took another drink from her glass and began tracing the lines of condensation with her pinky finger. "The accommodations are beautiful but I can't really enjoy them."

"Do you see much of her father?" Sybil asked the question in an off-handed manner, but Mary felt her face flush at the mentioning of Matthew. She hoped her sisters would assume her sudden color was due to her drink.

Mary shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "Not really no. I mean, I've seen him nearly everyday but only in passing or at a distance."

Mary remembered locking eyes with him on Friday evening of last week and again early this morning while having her morning coffee. Both times she had looked up, unconsciously feeling his eyes on her body, and discovered him staring at her from a short distance. She knew that she should be frightened or at least annoyed by his constant unabashed gaze, but Mary found that she spiritually thrived underneath it. They had gazed at one another hotly for several moments, he would run his fingers through his hair automatically and she would tilt her head reflexively, elongating and exposing the lines of her neck, before one of them had the courage to look away. The first time it was her. The second time it was him.

"Really, I'm not sure I've spoken more than five words to him other than 'good morning' and 'good night'." That was much was true, and Mary knew the exact five words she had nearly shouted at him through tear clouded eyes when she left Quinn's room Wednesday night.

Bates came back around and refreshed Sybil's drink and she asked Mary, "Does he work from home?"

"No, which is why I rarely see him. He works somewhere down town. Elsie mentioned the building the other day but I can't really recall it now…I think it might have been the Spence Building…or maybe it was The Legacy?...Either way the Murray Firm is based somewhere down town and Matthew is there Monday through Saturday from seven to seven."

"Ugh!" Edith replied hotly, "I don't want to hear anymore about that disgusting man. He's a coward and the only reason his daughter hasn't been taken away from him is because he can afford to pay someone like you to do his job for him."

Once again Mary found that she couldn't disagree with Edith's assessment of Matthew, despite badly wanting to.

"Anyway," Edith continued, "What does Rick think of you working there? I can't _imagine_ that he would have any opposition to you being gone for most of the waking hours of the day." Edith's words dripped with sarcasm and she gave Mary a knowing look from under her brow.

Mary curled her lip and rolled her eyes dramatically at Edith's remark. It was a well-known fact that her sisters did not approve of her live-in boyfriend. Mary often tried to avoid the subject of him altogether when she was with her sisters because it always ended with Ed and Sybil ganging up on her and Mary saying something spiteful back at them that she always regretted later. They didn't understand her and Mary didn't understand them. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

"Well he doesn't like it very much at all. He's pleased with how much I'm being paid, but dislikes how I'm never home with him."

Sybil cut her off and said in a satirical manner, "Oh, imagine that! Rick's worried about himself. That's something new."

Mary defended him quickly, haughtiness coating her remark, "I honestly don't blame him. We've really only spent a couple of hours together since I've started this job. How would you like it if you never saw your significant other?"

Both Edith and Sybil rolled their eyes at Mary's question but neither one of them had a retort for her.

Sybil eventually responded, "We just don't understand why you're with him Mary. You're amazing. He's not."

"Thank you but that is only your opinion. And trust me, plenty of people in this world think Richard Carlisle is amazing…me included."

"He's controlling and arrogant." Edith spat back at her.

"He's involved and intelligent." Mary tired to remain calm.

"He's cold and selfish." Sybil added.

"He's reserved and independent." Mary was failing to remain calm.

"He's a total dick, Mary." Edith stated loudly and confidently.

She met Edith's statement with heavy silence and hard stare. Mary's anger burned through her body, piercing Edith. Mary saw her sister's reserve falter under her rigid stare, and Edith eventually looked away from her shamed at the remark she had made.

"I'm sorry Mary." Edith replied quietly, "I shouldn't have said that about someone you care about."

"No you shouldn't have." Mary responded coldly. She took a minute to unwind the aggravated tension in her limbs and chest before taking a deep breath and adding softly, "but I forgive you…Now, let's talk about something other than my boyfriend."

Sybil took her clue and a moment later the youngest Crawley sister was busy asking Edith how her love had been going. In truth, Mary was extremely pleased to listen to Edith ramble on about a string of unsuccessful dates rather than think about her own long-term boyfriend. Lately, she couldn't help but feel a crashing sense of shame every time she thought of Rick. He might not be the type of person that Edith or Sybil would have dated, but Mary knew that deep down he was a good and honest man in a city overrun with liars and cheaters. He had been a dedicated partner over the years and he deserved better than what she had been giving him lately. Their relationship had been a little rocky the past couple months but it had entered a new stage of dysfunction ever since she started caring for Quinn. Their sparse meetings were composed of unsaid things and short bitter remarks. She met his irritation with silence; He met her distance with anger. It was a horrible circle that only led them to sleeping at opposite edges of the bed at night, neither daring to drop their pride, a crater of unsaid words separating their unsleeping bodies.

Mary would never admit that her relationship problems might have something to do with her attraction to her boss. She could easily admit to herself that she found him appealing, but she found any number of men on the street to be good looking as well. Those men were not plaguing her relationship with Rick, so Matthew Crawley wasn't either. Although, no man she had ever passed on the street had been able awakened her body and ignite her soul as Matthew had with only a few fleeting glances. Never the less, Matthew's small presence in her life was not the source of her relationship problems. Besides, Rick's personality flaws were almost nonexistent in compared to the enormity of Matthew's vices.

Mary departed from her sister's company around nine to make sure she was home before Rick got back from his evening class. She walked the six blocks home in peaceful silence, the alcohol in her system graciously numbing her jumbled mind.

Their apartment was located inside an old refurbished brick building that use to be a modestly sized church. The building held only four apartments and Mary and Rick's was located on the top level. She loved the old, romantic building, their cozy apartment, and their small roof top garden, where they grew lettuce, tomatoes, and a variety of herbs and spices. The apartment was arranged on slightly varying levels; she adored the way you had to step up one stair to enter the master bedroom, climb two stairs to enter into the kitchen, and descend down three to enter den. The aged brick of the building lined most of the inner walls and many of the old pipes were left exposed in the kitchen and bathrooms. The apartment's large stained glass windows reflected the afternoon sun in a picturesque way, and the original hard wood, now scratched and well weathered, still covered the foundations slightly sloping floors. Rick had given her free range over the decor and she had furnished and decorated it mostly with items she purchased, and then spruced up, from different flee markets and second hand shops around the city. Mary loved how nothing really matched—it was organized chaos. Their couch was forest green with purple polka-doted throws, the rug in the den was stripped red, brown, and gold, their comforter was a blue plaid and their pillows were a solid yellow, the shower curtain was a map of the Chicago 'L' train, pop and word art lined the walls (her favorite piece being a robot bulldog smoking a thick cigar), the curtains in the guest bedroom were an orange and pink floral pattern, and their dishware consisted of nearly every color of the rainbow. It was a hodgepodge of moods and feelings, colors and textures, patterns and prints, but it was unique and bright and warm.

Once, inside their two bedroom apartment, Mary set about making a late dinner for her and Rick. She quickly assembled a couple of avocado, diced tomato, and mozzarella grilled cheese sandwiches. She placed the warm sandwiches on the table and paired them with fresh veggies and garlic hummus, an enormous bowl of Bing cherries, and chilled lemonade. Just as Mary finished pouring her own glass of lemonade into a bright read tumbler, Rick walked through the front door, dropping his brown leather messenger bag on the patchwork recliner by the door in an exhausted manner.

"Hey." Mary called to him warmly, giving him a welcoming smile. She was glad to find that she was genuinely happy to see him, something she hadn't felt for a couple of weeks. Rick strode across the room family room and walked up to the kitchen, eyeing the spread on table, before planting a quick kiss on Mary's check.

Mary leaned into his kiss and asked, "How was class?"

"Fine I guess. They're all idiots."

Mary laughed at his remark, "Well you can't expect them to be scholars. It's only a two hundred level course. Most of them are probably only 20."

"They don't think for themselves." Rick pulled out her chair for her and then quickly sat down beside her. He grabbed a handful of cherries and placed them on his plate. "They want me to spoon-feed them the 'right' answers."

"They're still stuck in that 'high school' frame of mind—they think to study history is to only fleetingly remember a series of events, laws, and dates."

"I know that it's a battle I'll have to fight for the rest of my career."

"Most of them just want a grade and the credits, not the intellectual awaking that you want to give them." Mary added before dipping a stalk of broccoli into the container of hummus.

"Stupid kids." Rick explained with a heavy sigh. He had meant for it to sound like an insult but Mary could tell by his tone and slumped shoulders that he was disappointed in his inability to get through to them.

She heart sank for him. She wanted to cheer him up by reminding him that not all of his students were as dense as his current class.

She took a deep breath, "They don't understand that to study history is to study the collective human experience. They don't want to consume the past, digest the knowledge, and produce their own original thoughts. _They_ might not get it Rick…but many of your other student's have."

Rick sighed and looked up at her with a relieved smile, "Thanks for the reminder."

'_If you want to truly understand anything, observe its beginning and its development_' Mary quoted Aristotle to him, knowing that it would make his smile widen. She was not disappointed.

"God, you're a breath of fresh air. Come with next week."

"Maybe I will." Mary took a bite of her sandwich and said through a mouth full of cheese and bread, "They're just kids though, try not to get too down on them."

"You were their age once, and I remember, very clearly in fact, how history's true importance wasn't lost on you."

"Well I developed more quickly."

"You can say that again." Rick gave her a twisted smirk that made her face redden. She smiled at him knowingly before taking another bite of her sandwich.

After a moment's pause, filled only with the sounds of chewing and muffled traffic, Rick suddenly laughed loudly. "Tonight I actually had someone ask me where I went to medical school." He laughed again and continued, mimicking the student by speaking from the back of his throat and slowing his speech, "This particular gem was like, 'Ugghhh, Dr. Carlisle. Dude, Ugghhh…where did you go to med school at?' Rick paused and laughed again, "What a moron."

Mary looked at him from under her brow, frozen in the act of lifting her cup for another drink. "There is no way that actually happened."

"I swear."

"I don't believe you."

"Cross my heart."

"No."

"Yes."

Mary suddenly burst into hysterical laugher. She laughed so hard and for such a long time, her abdominals and her cheeks ached and tears weld up in her eyes. Rick laughed along with her and it felt wonderful to be so careless and happy for a while. Eventually their hysterics quitted to a few dispersed chuckles and they went back to enjoying their meal in quite contentment.

When Mary rose to clear their empty plates, Rick quickly grabbed her arm and spoke to her seriously, "You were one of the best students I've ever had."

Rick was thirty and Mary was twenty when they first met one another. He was then an assistant professor at DePaul and she was an undergraduate student. She had taken his class, _Europe Since 1945_, in the spring semester of her sophomore year and the two started casually dating one another two years later. By that time Mary was nearing the end of her final year of undergraduate work and Rick had been promoted to associate professor. They kept their relationship quite those first few months. They technically weren't breaking any rules, since Mary was no longer his student, but relationships between students and staff were still frowned upon. They remained in contact during the entire year that Mary spent abroad and Rick even joined her in Italy and Greece for a month in the summer and again in Germany for two weeks during his winter break. Their relationship got more serious by the time Mary had turned twenty-four and had started her graduate work and, last fall, the two moved into their current apartment. Their ten-year age difference was never an issue for them and Mary thought that their driven personalities complemented each other well.

His voice was low and pleasant and his eyes were clear and bright, "You're intelligence and tenacity is what I love most about you."

Mary's heart lifted at his words and she felt her lips move upwards in a small, adoring smile. She lowered her eyelids, moistened her lips, and responded in a soft and seductive voice, "Oh please, Ricky, I know you only love me because I'm a firecracker in the bedroom."

"Well, that is true." Rick responded through a wide, mischievous grin.

Mary turned and walked away from where he sat, putting a large amount of unnatural sway in her hips, to place their dirtied plates and glasses into the kitchen sink. Just as she was about to turn on the water, Rick suddenly grabbed her around the waist, turned her around to face him, bent down, and lifted her up, placing her entire body over his right shoulder. Mary laughed as Rick planted a light smack on her bottom and carried her to their darkened bedroom where they made love for the first time in weeks.

After, Mary lay stretched out pleasantly beside Rick. Her naked body felt satisfyingly warm and completely relaxed. Her bones seemed to sink into the bed and her muscles felt non-existent. Her sexual experiences with Rick were always very primal and animalistic. They both wanted sexual release and they craved the exquisite pleasure that went along with it. She loved the feeling of her own climax rocking through her exposed, tightened, and burning body. Mary and Rick's personal sexual needs were nearly always fulfilled when they went to bed together.

The stress of the week slowly crept back in on her and the physicality of their toss in the bed left Mary exhausted. She was just about to drift off into a heavy and well-deserved sleep when Rick's low voice broke through the air.

"When will you be home on Sunday?" Mary could tell form his tone that his playful demeanor from earlier had vanished.

Mary did not want to have this conversation again. They had been having such a pleasant evening in each other's company.

"Not until 8 o'clock."

"I see." Rick paused momentarily before continuing, and Mary could tell that he was trying to keep his irritation in check, "I don't know why you agreed to stay the night there."

Mary rose up on one arm to look at him, "I've always stayed the night at my employers when it was needed."

"Only every once in awhile." Ricks voice was beginning to rise but he did not look at Mary. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling above him, "Why on earth you would agree to staying there EVERY Wednesday and EVERY other weekend is beyond my comprehension."

"I assume there are a lot of things in this world that are beyond your comprehension."

"I'm an intelligent man Mary. I understand most decisions that require basic common sense or prudent judgment. Common sense was not invoked in your decision."

Mary was suddenly reminded of Edith's words from earlier, '_He's controlling and arrogant_.'

"Quinn needs me." Mary responded quickly.

"She needs her father not you." Mary had told Rick about Quinn's non-existent relationship with her father, though Rick, at the time, had seemed much less interested in Quinn's well-being and more interested in whether or not Mary could get stock advice for him from Matthew.

Mary's voice rose to meet his, "Well her father isn't there for her so I will be."

"That's not your responsibility."

"But it's my choice."

"So you willingly choose something that directly effects our time together. What about me Mary? Don't you think I need you too?"

'_He's cold and selfish_.'

"Excuse me for thinking that a neglected child needs my attention more than a fully-grown and emotionally developed man."

Rick finally looked at her at his words were laced with poison, "Your independent decision on this matter could ruin our relationship. Is that what you want? To have a…" Rick searched for a word, "DEFECTIVE child disrupt your happiness with me."

Mary's impulse to protect Quinn was reflexive—a newly acquired muscle that was swift and powerful. She wanted to physically strike Rick for calling Quinn something so cruel. His choice of insult had implied that her troubles were of her own making. Every muscle in her body tightened uncomfortably.

She spat her next words at him through her clenched jaw, "Well if our relationship falls apart because of a five-year old girl, then it was never that strong to begin with."

She threw the comforter off of her naked body, wrapped her silk robe around herself, and stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. She would rather sleep on the couch for the night then spend one more moment by his Rick's side.

Mary rolled over and saw the bright lights of the city skyline through a small crack in the drapes. She flipped the pillow over and punched its middle, trying to force its limp body into something that would sooth her aching body, but not even the cool side of the pillow would reward her the slightest bit of peace. She grumbled and sat up straight, tilting her head first to the right, then to left, the back to the right again, the sound of her cracking spine reverberating around the large room. Her bag was still packed by the door and the clock on the wall read 1:37. She could leave now, in the dead of the night, and he wouldn't realize she was gone until he woke in the morning. They both knew that their arrangement was only temporary and there was no sense in her hanging around if it wasn't going to work.

Her phone buzzed beside her, the large screen reading "Napiey". Mary slid her thumb across the screen, opening his text message.

**Where the hell r u? I'm drunk at Bates' and ur not here 2 tell me 2 stop buying shots for the table of girls next 2 me. My bill is going 2b HUGE! lol**

Mary chuckled lightly, and responded._**You dork. Is Sybil or Ed there? Want me to tell them to close your tab and get you a taxi?**_

"**No, none of the Crawley sister's r here 2 keep me in line and anyway the nite is still yunge …I feel like I should try karaoke tonight. More spesificially(?) Johnny Cash."**

_**Normally, I would advise against it but I need a laugh. I'm texting Bates and having him record it for me.**_

**Y aren't u here?**

Mary sighed and flipped on the lamp next to her bed, _**A girl has to work for a living Napier**_

**EEEWWWW! It's 2 in the A.M.! Y r working on a Saturday night?**

Mary started to respond to him, wondering if she would ever escape this question, but was suddenly cut off by another message from Evan.

**Got 2 go. Lady Gaga is playing and nohting brings the ladies 2 the dance flour like Lady Gaga. Going 2 make those shots i bought pay off. ; )**

_**Have fun. Be Safe Napiey.**_

Mary quickly sent a text to Bates asking him to make sure that Napier got home safely, before shutting off her phone, then trying to rub the weariness from her face. Mary's confidence in her ability to get through to Quinn was taking a severe beating and there were several times that she just wanted to cut her losses and call it quits.

She stood and walked to bathroom, wanting a cool glass of water. She tried not to look at herself in the large mirror, knowing that only a tired and disheveled woman would live behind the reflective glass. She searched the vanity for a moment looking for her glass, before remembering that she had dropped it on the floor this morning and had placed it in the dishwasher to be cleaned. She briefly considered dipping her head beneath the sink and drinking straight from the elegantly shaped facet before deciding against it. Perhaps a late night stroll through the penthouse to the kitchen would do her some good.

…

Her first weekend staying at the penthouse and caring for Quinn had, so far, been uneventful, save for tonight's dinner. Friday had gone smoothly, Mary having read a total of five books to Quinn as the later sat drawing or mutely staring out the massive windows. Each time Mary had finished one book, Quinn had quietly walked up to her, removed the hardback from her grasp and replaced it on the self before thoughtfully chose another one for Mary to read. Today had been peaceful as well. Mary was able to talk Quinn into playing a video game along with her and was please to find that she seemed to enjoy herself.

Around four o'clock in the afternoon, Anna informed Mary of how Matthew and Quinn ate dinner together every Saturday evening at seven, and that Matthew had invited her to join them. Mary washed and dressed Quinn and then quickly dressed herself in the best outfit she brought with her. Dinner was an uncomfortable situation to say the very least. They dinned in the formal dinning room and neither the elegance of their surroundings nor the decadence of their prepared meal could make up for the fact that none of the three individuals attending wanted to be there. Mary decided that their twenty-five minute dinner had been one of the most excruciating and awkward situations in her life.

She had helped Quinn into the large chair on Matthew's right and then sat down across from her on Matthew's left. He was dressed in another perfectly tailored suit, and as she sat, Matthew smiled at her warmly and inquired into whether she was well. Mary returned his smile and assured him she was fine, all while noticing that his sky-blue tie matched the colors of his eyes almost flawlessly. Elsie then entered with their dinners- chicken cordon bleu, buttered and steamed new potatoes, and steamed asparagus, for Mary and Matthew and a grilled cheese sandwich, cut into fours, and a fruit medley with a dollop of Cool Whip for Quinn. Mary set about cutting her chicken but was stopped in the act of taking her first bite by the sound of Matthew's sudden and strangled sounding intake of breath. She looked up at him and saw a man fighting a raging inner battle with himself. After several moments of watching Matthew fidget uncomfortably and seeing his mouth move around un-vocalized words, the man finally addressed his small child.

"And how was your day Quinn? I saw you playing a video game, did you enjoy yourself?" His voice was soft and unsure, cracking slightly in different places.

The girl never even looked up at her father. She sat leaned back in her chair, holding one triangle of her sandwich in both hands, her mouth chewing slowly, her small fingers shinning with the grease of her buttered bread. After several moments, Matthew eventually gave up on waiting for his daughter's answer and Mary met his glance for a moment, before he turned his attention back to his own meal. His posture was even more dejected than normal and his face was slightly flushed, whether from embarrassment or anger, Mary did not know.

The rest of the meal was finished in complete silence. Mary's eyes remained locked on her own plate in front of her, only occasionally looking up to see how much Quinn was eating. Mary silently consumed her entire meal, wanting only to occupy her mind and body while having to endure the agonizing situation.

Eventually Quinn's soft voice broke through the deafening silence. Her eyes remained on her half finished meal as she spoke to the room, "May I please be excused?"

Mary looked up and saw Matthew's fork pause in the act of spearing a piece of chicken. He answered his daughter's request, just as quietly as he had spoken to her before, "Yes you may."

Mary's eyes drifted to Quinn and saw that the girl did not budge from where she sat. After a second's beat, Quinn's eyes rose and locked with Mary's. The girl spoke again and his time it was clear whom she was asking permission of.

"May I please be excused, Mary?"

It was the first time Quinn had said her name but the joy of the small victory was lost in a sea of thick tension. Mary wanted to craw into a hole and die.

Mary quickly turned her head and saw Matthew's gazed fixed on a spot on the table, the fingers of his left hand tensing and flexing repeatedly. His blue eyes looked hard and tired and she could see the muscles of his jaw clench and unclench beneath is sallow skin. Eventually, Mary repeated Matthew's answer, and with her eyes still on Matthew's sickened form, she heard Quinn vacate her seat.

In time, he looked at her and she clearly saw the purple bags of descended skin under his thickly lashed eyes. They locked eyes for only a moment, before Mary looked away, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

"I guess I should excuse myself as well." Mary quietly uttered to him while making to stand from her seat. "Thank you for the dinner invitation."

She did not wait for him to speak as she turned and walked away from where he sat, though she couldn't help but feel guilty at leaving him alone at the large table. It felt as if she were slowly walking away from someone who was drowning.

…

Mary gradually opened the guest bedroom door, stepped into the dark hall on her tiptoes and closed the door silently behind her, keeping the handle turned until the door was completely shut. She slowly walked down the corridor, the polished wood floors feeling pleasantly cool against her bare feet. She walked past Matthew's office and another smaller guest bedroom before passing the family room. She noticed a faint light issuing from the large front living room but thought nothing of it as she entered into the large kitchen, aglow only from a small bulb above the stove. Mary located another small tumbler and filled it with chilled water from the refrigerator door. She emptied it in three large gulps and filled it again, letting the water run down the edge of the glass, trying to minimize the sound of the running water. She clutched the cool glass in her hand and exited the kitchen, turning right in the direction of her temporary room.

A single clear note broke through the air and Mary's head whipped around, surprised by the sudden musical key. She heard the loud thumping of her startled heart in her ears and her body froze in midstride. Another, slightly deeper, note rang through the air a moment later, and then there was a beat of silence that was followed by a succession of keys that combined and settled themselves into a slow, beautiful, and melancholy song. Her body, which had been tense from shock a moment ago, slowly loosened alongside the rise and fall of the poetic melody. She didn't recognize the tune but its beats, bridges, and tones felt like a natural and organic extension of her body. Her heart softened and then warmed pleasantly in her chest as the song continued, and then, without conscious thought, she turned around to follow the beckoning of the clear piano notes that called to her from the living room.

She placed her glass of water on the dinning room table and entered into the living room, her eyes fixed on the opposite corner of the room. Mary knew who would be sitting at the piano's bench, playing the song that was written by angles but was meant for the damned. Her feet carried her forward to him, hypnotized by his lyrical masterpiece, a flood of emotions and broken images crossing her mind, making her feel emotionally fulfilled and still desperately lonely. His body was visible only by a single lamp's light, casting half of his body in a warm glow and the other half in a deep shadow. She saw the curvature of his spine through the thin fabric of his grey t-shirt, the small protruding ridges of his vertebrae dispersed down the thick line of his broad back. His head was tilted slightly to the right, his thick golden locks hung loose in disheveled groups, waving slightly with the slight movements of his arms and hands as they traveled across the ivory keys. His bare feet were flat on the floor, not bothering to use the piano's pedals, and she could see the tension in his legs through his plaid pajama pants.

She stood not ten feet behind him now, and she paid witness to the man's continued spiritual birth, life, and death as he sat composing. Mary could see through his blurred reflection in the window that his eyes were closed behind a pair of glasses that she did not know he required. His face was relaxed but pained, his mind no doubt recalling the fresh, haunting images that inspired his swan song. She closed her eyes with along with him, feeling and breathing through his every stroke of the keys, her mind traveling across time and space, recalling her own life's tragedies. Her grief was strong but therapeutic, reminding her that pain was a part of living, and her heart rate accelerated as the music rapturously built and soothingly ebbed. A tear that she didn't know that her body had created, fell from one of her closed eyes, and she let out a slow and silent sigh, which was heavy with emotion but light in spirit. The song he unknowing played for her built one last time, an explosion of color and grief at play behind her eyes, before perfectly subsiding, his final dispersing key strokes meeting up flawlessly with her beating heart.

Mary did not know how much time had passed between the end of his song and the time she opened her eyes, her mind unwilling to leave the beautiful space he had created for her. Her lids slowly fluttered open, her lashes coated with unshed tears, and she saw him staring at her through the reflected glass. She met his eyes in the glass and she watched him as he slowly removed his glasses to look at her more thoroughly. Their stare was momentarily broken as he turned in his seat, but they recovered the tragic loss quickly. She must have moved more closely to him while her eyes were closed, because now only a few feet of ground separated them. She was certain that if they both reached out towards one another, their stretched fingertips would have lightly brushed. His clear blue eyes once again transfixed her; his song had already enlivened her spirit, but his gaze set her body aglow.

His eyes slowly traveled across her burning form and Mary let him do so without protest. Part of her conscious mind reminded her of what she was wearing, but her unconscious mind was too busy enjoying the way Matthew Crawley's eyes tenderly stroked the outlines and centers of her body. She stood before him in only a pair of black leggings and an oversized, solid red t-shirt. The leggings clung like a second skin to her lean legs and the shirt hung loose and crooked around her frame, exposing a solid inch of skin above her hips and the entirety of her left shoulder. He waited for her to inhale and exhale twice before removing his eyes from the exposed line of skin above her hips. His eyes then slowly traced the bow of her hips to lines of her stomach and curves of her chest, until his eyes caught sight of her exposed shoulder. His eyes lingered longest on her nakedness there, and Mary had never felt more aware of her own anatomy. His eyes traveled the exposed line of skin between her arm and chest, and she felt the blood rush there, illuminating it for him. He licked his lips quickly and Mary saw him look away from the spot with deliberate effort. When his eyes finally returned to hers, Mary was his for the taking. She felt her mouth open slightly and her mind search for words, unsure of the best way to ask him to take her to bed.

"Did I wake you?" Matthew's low, smooth voice reverberated around the large room.

"No you didn't." Her relaxed voice was surprisingly steady. "I couldn't sleep and was just out fetching a drink."

"I'm glad. I would hate to think that I was disturbing your sleep."

"No you weren't." Her words hung in the air and they continued to see through each other.

She continued addressing him, "You play beautifully."

"Thank you…I frequently can't sleep and I find playing to be…" Matthew's eyes traveled to her shoulder again, "…soothing."

"It was very soothing."

He stood then. Gradually easing his body off of the piano bench. She was pleased to see him dressed in something so relaxed and normal; he looked years younger. She could see the hard planes of his chest under the thin cotton of his shirt and the sharp edges of his hips protruded slightly above waist of his low fitting pajama pants. Mary noticed that he was several inches taller than her without her heals on, and she had to look up into his face to maintain the lifeline that bound them together. His eyelids were heavy, and his lips were moist and parted. Her chest was tight, her stomach empty, and her legs heavy, as Matthew took one slightly hesitant step towards her. She remained locked in his eyes as he moved and she felt her mind battling with itself between fighting his advances or surrendering to the blissful oblivion that he was about to bestow on her. He took another step towards her, and as his eyes drifted to her trembling lips, Mary's better judgment caught up with her. She looked away suddenly and the spell that they had manifested so easily together was broken.

"I'm sorry." Mary had apologized reflexively but she realized that in doing so, she had given voice to their shared and intense attraction.

Matthew paused in his tracks and Mary could feel his slow, exhaling breath warm her face. He stepped back from her, and Mary raised her head in time to watch his fall. He took another step back, and she could have wept at his distance. They both shuffled their feet uncomfortably, unsure of what to say to the other, each knowing what would have happened if Mary would not have looked away.

Eventually, the sound of Matthew's humorless laugh rang through the air, "I'm sorry about tonight's dinner. I'm sure it couldn't have been a pleasant experience for you."

Mary knew that he was trying to use humor as a mask for his shame and disappointment, but she decided to play along with him, thankful that he had graciously changed the subject.

Her small laugh matched his, "I've had worse." They both knew that it was a lie, but Matthew seemed to accept it.

"Unfortunately, tonight's events are pretty common." His light tone slipped on his last word, making his statement sound more like a sad confession.

Mary wasn't sure how to respond and the room filled with uncomfortable silence once more.

Thankfully, Matthew changed the subject again a moment later, "I'm sorry you can't sleep. Are you comfortable enough?"

"Oh yes everything is wonderful. My restlessness has nothing to do with the accommodations." She thought she saw understanding behind the brilliant blue of his eyes.

"Could I offer you a drink?" Matthew indicated the bar in the opposite corner. "Just something to take the edge off."

Mary gave him a small smile, "No thank you. Perhaps another time."

Matthew looked slightly dejected but forced a warm smile to his lips, "Another time it is then."

The silence that followed was deafening, and both of them looked down at their bare feet in order to have something to do.

She heard Matthew's deep intake of oxygen, but Mary spoke before the unknown words were able to leave his lips, "I think I should give sleep another try." His brow crinkled in disappointment and Mary took in a tight, shaking breath, but was able to push on with forced cheerfulness in her voice, "Good-night then."

She saw the look of surprise and poorly hidden sadness cross his face, before he replaced them with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Good-night, Mary."

She hesitated slightly at the sound of her name on his lips, fascinated that the two simple syllables could sound so beautiful when they were formed on his tongue and fell from his lips. She looked deeply into his eyes once more, and she tried to untangle the clouded mystery that surrounded the gorgeous man. Reluctantly, she tore herself away from him and began walking away, her body directed toward the guest bedroom but her mind remaining under the glow of his bright, burning eyes. The eyes that were perfect windows into his sadness and misery; eyes, the color of a clear summer sky and Caribbean water; eyes, that had undressed her emotionally, layer by layer, time and time again; eyes, that he had given to his only daughter.

Mary suddenly paused at the cusp of the darkened hallway, the memory of Quinn's beautiful and joyless eyes flashing across her mind. She slowly turned back to him and was unsurprised to find that he was already looking at her.

She repeated the same five words that she had said to him three nights ago as she had exited Quinn's room and discovered him sitting on the hard floor just outside his child's room. His red-rimmed eyes and tear-tracked cheeks matched Mary's. Her voice had trembled and broke when she said them the first time, but this time her voice remained soft and clear.

"She needs her father, Matthew."

He met her gaze for a moment before slowly looking away, unable to maintain the contact. Mary felt the familiar disappointment she harbored for him rise in her chest and then settle bitterly in her stomach. The weightlessness he had inspired in her minutes before was replaced with frustration, and she despised him for having the ability to light her on fire and then subdue her completely. She looked at him for only a moment longer, internally screaming for him to look at her once more, before she departed. Matthew did not hear her silent wish, and eventually Mary tore herself away from him, sure that the pain of leaving him behind would cause visible marks on her skin.

She retreated down the darkened corridor, passing the room where the girl was hopefully sleeping peacefully and the room that her father would craw into later, seeking a peace that he would not find. As she turned the corner, her own bedroom door in sight, she heard Matthew speak to the night and the ice that he had built around her heart moment's ago cracked slighty and Mary sighed sweetly at sound of his answering _I know_ following her down the hall.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hello everyone. I want to apologize again for the delay in updating, I don't intend on making it habitual. I am a woman of many interests and I have always immensely enjoyed watching the Olympics. So, I can safely say that I did not write a single word of this chapter until the games were finished. Therefore, I wrote this entire chapter, which contains a little over 10,000 words, in about eight days (I also took this past weekend off to spend time with my husband, because as much as I care about Mary and Matthew's relationship, I value my own marriage more.) Again, I want to thank you all for your amazing support and heart-warming reviews. I'd be lying if I said reading them didn't make my day. I hope you enjoy Chapter 6—it was a labor of love. Cheers.**_

…

_She died on a Tuesday—an average day where average people were carrying on with their average lives, unaware that the light had gone out in his life. On a Tuesday in early October, a machine helped her take her final breath, and his was guilt was born. _

_Love truly is watching someone die—painfully slow at first and then all at once. The human body is magnificent in health but pitiful in sickness. She has been vibrant with life only days before— running miles, dancing barefoot with her daughter resting on her hip, and making him laugh loudly. But her young, healthy body had quickly failed her. She could no longer nourish herself, empty her bowels, or even gather oxygen into her lungs without the aid of beeping machines or clear IV drips. She had died a broken shell of her former self. _

_Death—a slow motion fall, then a sudden slap against the earth. _

_He knew the very moment that she was gone. He had felt it instantly, like touching a hot stove or flipping a light switch. He could see the small peaks even out on the screen and hear the flat-line pierce sharply through the air, but his body and mind were the first to realize her parting. A swift kick in the gut, an electric shock through his system, sudden deafness and burning heat—all of them physical and all of them painful. Perhaps it was the incapacitating feeling of his own soul leaving his body, exiting along with his broken exhale, wanting to follow along to the place where her soul was going; or perhaps it was the bitter realization that her still warm body no longer encapsulated the her lovely spirit. Her motionless form still occupied the space beside him but he had never been more alone before in his life. _

_He saw her eyes twitch quickly behind her lids in those last seconds and had always wondered what final image her mind had conjured for her in those closing moments…what picture did she try to take with her as she left? Was it him? Was it her? …He hoped it was her, he didn't deserve to be anyone's final thought. _

_He wished she would have been surrounded by friends and family, but he was the only one to witness her final moments as she lie in the cold, blindly white hospital room that smelled of strong disinfectant, her broken sweat, and his desperate tears._

_The sun shone brightly through the open windows, hitting her tangled hair, turning her knotted strawberry locks into something more like glorious fire._

_He remembers the sun clearly. It was a beautiful day out, the type of day where the three of them would have walked about the city together enjoying the colors of fall, before finding a hidden café where they would have eaten outside and enjoyed the cool breeze. But the bright sunshine and sweet crisp air only mocked him that Tuesday in October. He wished it would have rained…that would have been more fitting, direness to match his misery. _

_It had happened so quickly. The accident, their dismissal of its significance, and before anything could really be done about it, it was already too late. She was destined for an early death and he was sentence for a long life of damnation, guilt, and pain. _

_Three days before, they had been enjoying their shared life and planning for the future, and three days after he would bury her young body into freshly dug earth. _

_Matthew stood at her grave and wept for hours, pleading loudly for her forgiveness, but the howling wind was the only creature that responded. Reality settled heavily and bitterly in his stomach—his wife would never hear his pleads and he would never find the forgiveness he needed. _

_His daughter cried somewhere in the distance._

…

Matthew's grip tightened around the black leather of the steering wheel as he stared at the spattering of raindrops caught by his windshield. He could no longer hear the rain's thunderous assault while parked deep underground in The Pearl's private garage, but he knew that a summer storm of this magnitude wouldn't pass for a while.

He looked at the clock on the dash and sighed tiredly as he read the small glowing numbers.

9:14

He had just spent nearly fourteen hours at the office, burying himself in his pro bono cases. Even when Matthew was just an associate, he tried to take as many pro bono cases as he possibly could, but they were always few and far between back then. He had always loved the feeling of humility that came along with helping those that couldn't afford to pay for an attorney, and he quickly learned that doing well by others was an addictive habit. Consequently, now that he was more than financially secure and his own name graced the company's letterhead, Matthew was able to take pro bono cases exclusively, acting only as a consultant on large corporate cases when needed.

Matthew slowly counted to three before pouring himself out of his car. He slung his worn, brown leather messenger bag across his body, and shut the heavy door, the sound of it echoing loudly off the cement walls and pillars of the underground garage.

Matthew stood outside his car for several moments, trying to pinch and rub the weariness from his dry eyes. He rested the weight of his body against the side of the car, not caring that mud and city grime were slowly inching themselves into the fibers of his $1200 suit. His frustration was palpable—why was he so exhausted nearly every waking moment of the day, but unable to find more than a few hours peace at night? He let out three tired breaths to the night and silently willed his body to move from the spot he was anchored to. Eventually, he was able to convince his legs into supporting his weight, and he slowly made his way to the executive elevator in the middle of the garage.

Once inside the plush elevator, his key-card swiped and the right buttons pushed, Matthew nestled his body into one of the elevators back corners and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to trial proceedings, rising and falling stock prices, the small but visible changes he had been seeing in Quinn, his desire for a cold beer, and deep brown eyes set against alabaster skin…plump, cheery colored lips…and waves of sweet smelling, inky hair.

He had discovered her once more in the night several weeks ago and this time he had been able to convince her into having a couple drinks with him. They sat closely next to one another at his hand carved bar and talked about nothing particular until four in the morning. He asked her questions about her studies and she inquired into his law practices. She talked about her sisters and her ambitions for the future and he listening intently to every word and syllable that fell from her perfectly shaped lips. He discovered that she loved red wine and smooth vodka, preferred white rums over dark, could be tempted into drinking an aged scotch, but refused to be anywhere near tequila. He had made her laugh and she had made him think about promises, dreams, and new beginnings.

Only a second later, Matthew heard a soft 'ding' and opened his eyes to see the elevator doors slowly open. He must have fallen asleep on the short ride up and he let out a quick hysterical laugh as he drug himself into the corridor, making his way towards his own door.

Matthew felt no relief or comfort in entering his grand and dimly lit home. Lightening flashed bright white across the sky, momentarily illumining the city skyline with a beautiful contrast of black and white shapes. He heard the light murmurings of a distant television to his left and saw the movement of elongated shadows bouncing off the hallway at the entrance to the kitchen. Matthew moved towards the murmuring, anticipation swelling in his chest, and he watched the dancing shadows, hoping that one of the ebony forms would be hers.

As he entered the kitchen his eyes fell on two different female forms but neither was the lithe figure that he yearned to gaze upon. He saw Elsie arranging his dinner onto a white china plate to his right and Anna standing in the middle of the family room to his left, her hands on her hips, eyes glued to a baseball game on the television. Matthew was suddenly reminded of the time and realized that she had gone home hours ago, back to her own life and back to her boyfriend. His heart sank but he quickly composed himself.

"Hello ladies." Matthew addressed them warmly, forcing a light-hearted tone and a matching smile.

"Hello Mr. Crawley." Elsie responded formally.

Anna acknowledged him with a short and vacant "Hey" still totally immersed in the game and Matthew couldn't help the real smile that came to his lips. He knew that Anna was a sports fanatic and he always enjoyed giving her tickets to any sort of event. She was always extremely grateful for anything, but Matthew enjoyed watching her light up like a kid on Christmas morning when he handed her tickets to her beloved Cubs games. He could tell from Anna's tense stance in front of the TV that the game was not going in the direction that she wanted it to.

Matthew asked her curiously, "Who's winning Anna?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She responded dejectedly.

Matthew laughed out loud. Unfortunately for Anna, this was a fairly common response. He leaned around her and caught a glimpse of the lopsided score, before taking a seat at the island just as Elsie placed his dinner in front of him.

"I hope maple-glazed pork chops and broccoli-cheese casserole sound good, Mr. Crawley."

"Thank you Elsie, it looks delicious."

In truth, Matthew rarely craved any sort of food. The pleasure of indulging in that particular sense had died along with his wife and now he mostly ate out of necessity and to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Consequently, thanks to his lack of appetite and a vigorous and punishing morning workout routine, his physique had become lean and hard.

"And what would you like to drink tonight?"

Matthew's thoughts returned to his desire for a cold beer, "Do we have any Amstel or Newcastle?"

"I believe we have both."

"Okay, I'll have a Newcastle."

"Excellent." Elsie gave him a lingering smile, before she looked up and fixed her eyes on Anna's back, where the later still stood as still as a statue in front of the television.

"Anna!" Elsie nearly shouted her name, causing Anna to quickly turn around and Matthew to jump slightly in his seat. Matthew saw Elsie fix a hard smile upon her face as she continued to address her younger co-worker.

"Mr. Crawley would like a Newcastle. Could you please fetch him one?"

Matthew immediately felt uncomfortable and he started backtracking, "Oh that's unnecessary Elsie. I can get it myself, please continue to watch the game Anna." He made to get up from his seat as Anna spoke.

"No it's alright Mr. Crawley, let me get it." She gave one last fleeting look at the TV, "If I watch anymore of this, I think I'll be sick." She left the room shaking her head as she made towards the bar in the front room.

Matthew settled himself back down and set about forcing himself to eat his meal as he heard Elsie shuffle around the kitchen, cleaning and organizing.

Matthew took several small bites before asking her, "And how was your day Elsie?"

"Oh, fine thank you, Mr. Crawley. An average day mostly."

Anna entered the kitchen again and placed the cold bottle of beer in front of him.

"Oh, don't let her lie to you, Mr. Crawley."

Elsie quickly turned to look at Anna, and Matthew could see the confusion on the older woman's face. Anna continued by explaining to him, "It was an average day for the most part but Carson also stopped by this afternoon looking for you."

Matthew saw Elsie's face flush with embarrassment, and he had to laugh as understanding dawned on him. He mimicked Anna's wide smile and decided to play along with the young woman's game.

"Did he now?" He met Anna's eye but knew that Elsie was watching him as he asked the former sarcastically, "And why on earth would my investment consultant stop by here when he knows perfectly well that I'm at the office every Tuesday?"

"I don't know." Anna responded with a laugh, "I overheard him say something to Elsie about dropping off some papers, but after he stayed and flirted with her for about ten-minutes, I don't know if he ever actually remembered to leave anything for you."

Matthew tried to fake a look of concern as he turned to a very red-faced Elsie and asked, "Did Carson leave any figures for me to look over Elsie? Or was he too busy admiring you?"

Elsie raised her hands in the air in surrender and tried to hide the smile on her face as she said, "Oh, be quite you two." She quickly turned back around and tried to occupy herself with the dishes.

Anna and Matthew exchanged matching smiles, as Matthew made a move for his beer. Anna silently offered him an empty, frosted pilsner glass, but Matthew shook his head, wishing to drink straight from the bottle instead.

He took a hard grip on the cold glass and tried to twist the cap off. His numerous attempts were unsuccessful as the bottle cap's ridges made small, painful cuts into palm and fingers. Anna looked to be enjoying watching him struggle, and after seeing her smile at him shamelessly, Matthew extended the unopened bottle to her with out hesitation.

"Here," he raised one eyebrow at her as he smirked challengingly, "if you think you can do so much better."

Anna took the bottle from his grasp with a confident smile on her face. He saw her as she rested the cap's lip at a small angle under the counter's edge, and in one fast and hard motion, Anna slammed the heal of her free hand onto the bottle's lid, causing the unhinged and bent cap to fall, spinning to the floor.

"Anna." Elsie sounded slightly ashamed as she addressed the younger woman over her shoulder, "that really is barbaric"

Matthew felt the look of astonishment on his face, as Anna coyly slid the opened bottle towards him.

He let out a few amazed chuckles and disagreed with his old friend, "I think it was amazing… How long have you been longing to show someone that?"

"It's been slowly killing me."

He laughed and raised the bottle towards her, "Here is to your continued good health."

He took several large gulps of the amber liquid as Anna walked around to start helping Elsie with the dishes. He couldn't help the relieved sigh that left his lips as he placed the half-emptied bottle back onto the granite counter top.

Matthew asked her through a mouthful of casserole, "Where on earth did you learn how to do that?"

"Mary taught me this past weekend."

Matthew froze in his seat at the mentioning of her name. He felt his flesh go cold but his heart accelerate.

He whispered to the room, "Did she now?"

"Yeah. I stayed up here on Saturday night with her and we had a couple of drinks while we watched a movie."

Anna paused suddenly, realizing what she had admitted to him, and then started talking very quickly, "I hope you don't mind, Mr. Crawley. Quinn was already asleep, and Mary and I just watched a movie, and had some popcorn and a few drinks. I told her you wouldn't mind. I hope I wasn't wrong."

Matthew hardly heard what Anna was saying, because his mind was too busy forming the picture of Mary Crawley stretched out comfortably on his leather couch, her face flushed from alcohol, her thick, shinning hair loose and disheveled, her thin legs clad in black leggings that were as tight as a second skin, and her chest covered only by that red shirt, which did unholy things to his imagination. He immensely enjoyed the idea and felt the smile grow on his lips.

"No," He knew he sounded breathless but he just didn't care, "I don't mind at all."

For a moment he wondered if Mary thought of him as much as he dwelt upon her. When his troubled mind decided to give him a moment's peace, the woman he barely knew often drifted into his conscious. Thoughts of her dominated his days and saturated his dreams. He had known her for only slightly less than two months and she had already had planted roots in his life. The roots she grew were strong and thick, and they would not come loose without causing him extreme pain and bitter sadness.

Matthew continued, "I'm glad that you stayed with her while I was gone, and of course I'm glad that you made yourselves at home."

He had gone out of town the past weekend to New York City to take care of some company business and Mary had graciously agreed to stay a weekend that she was not contractually obligated to.

He had bent down and kissed the crown of Quinn's strawberry colored head the morning he left, and as he turned to leave his unresponsive daughter, he noticed Mary watching him from the doorframe. Her gaze froze him in his tracks and he realized that he didn't want to leave her, nor his child, behind. Mary's face was relaxed and her eyes were soft but fixed steadily upon him. He found her more and more beautiful with each passing day, and the shade of emerald green that she wore that day made her look especially divine. Matthew could tell by her small smile and peaceful demeanor that she approved of his parting gesture to his daughter. He dropped the keys to his Land Rover into her outstretched palm and he handed her a scrap paper with his contact information, just in incase she would need to use a car or contact him in case of an emergency…or perhaps if she just felt inclined to call him in the middle of the night. He bid her farewell and tried to not dwell too much on the parting words she had offered to his retreating form: _'Come back quickly, Matthew.'_

However, thinking of Mary always eventually lead back to the reason she had entered into his life in the first place—his stolen wife, his blame and burden in the manner, and his suffering child. Matthew again grew somber at the thought of his daughter.

"How was Quinn today?"

It was Elsie that answered his whispered question.

"I think she had a good day today. She and Mary played board games most of the morning, and I overheard them casually talking about this and that all throughout the day." Elsie paused and moved around to his right, to where Matthew could see the seriousness on her face. "I haven't heard her speak so much in a very long time, in fact… I don't know if I've ever heard her speak so much."

Matthew felt the ever-present weight on his chest lift slightly at her words, and he seized the moment to take in a refreshing breath of cool air. He too had seen the small, positive changes in Quinn over the past two months, but he was extremely pleased to hear that others were noticing too. He didn't know whether or not his restless mind and sleepless nights were finally making him delusional as well.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Anna moved to stand next to Elsie and added, "And she asked me if she could help me make lunch today. I have a feeling that Mary put her up to it, but still…she's hardly ever spoken to me before."

"Yes," Elsie agreed wholeheartedly and continued addressing Anna, "And she asked if she could help me with dishes after the four of us ate dinner tonight."

Anna nodded her head quickly and continued, "Oh and the other day, Mary took her downstairs to sign for a package for me, and as they left, I saw Quinn reach up and grab her hand. When they came back a few minutes later, Mary had the package in one arm and Quinn's hand still in the other."

"Oh, yes, I saw that too." Elsie added and it was clear that the two women had completely forgotten that Matthew was with them.

Elsie added excitedly, "Mary had to crouch a little to reach Quinn's hand wearing those enormous heals that she adores so much."

"It was so sweet, wasn't it?"

"It was, but nothing compares to the way Quinn has taken to dressing like her. Did you see the other day, when Mary wore those jean shorts and that red and navy plaid shirt?"

"Yeah," Anna laughed at the memory, "Quinn saw her come in that morning, took a good look at her, turned around and shut the door of her room, only to come out a minute later wearing a pair of poorly rolled jeans and a white T-shirt that she had taken a red and blue marker to."

"Mary's face was priceless when she saw it." Elsie laughed fondly and Matthew felt his own mouth rise in a wide smile. "But it was sweet of her to not bring attention to it."

Anna let out a few more soft chuckles before she paused momentarily, and Matthew saw contemplation at work behind her eyes. She then added thoughtfully, "That woman is a miracle worker, isn't she? It's only been, what?... seven weeks and I've seen a lot of positive changes in Quinn. It's not a complete transformation by any mean, but it's… something. "

"It really is amazing." Elsie soft voice, matched Anna's thoughtful tone. "I don't know if Mary realizes it, or gives herself enough credit but it really is wonderful."

Both of the women grew quiet then, and Matthew was left in a state of unfulfilled suspension at their sudden silence. He had been hanging on their every word and reveling in the heart stopping images that their conversation had elicited in his mind. He was the happiest he had felt in years while listening to the two women speak, and Matthew yearned to prolong the glorious feeling for as long as possible. He wished with all his heart that they would continue talking about the slow but wonderful transformation of his daughter. He wished they would talk more about how she was beginning reach out to others, he wished they would explain further about how Quinn was no longer terrified to leave the glass walls of their home, and he wished that they would describe every glorious detail of how his once emotionally distant and closed off daughter was forming a strong relationship with her astonishing caretaker—as if Matthew needed another reason to adore the woman.

Of course Matthew had noticed the subtle changes in his daughter as well, but Quinn still continued to keep him at distance. She still would not meet his eye or even acknowledge his presence. He only ever bore witnessed to her gradual metamorphoses from darkened shadows or behind unseen corners. He had discovered her animatedly playing with her dolls last week, and he had nearly wept at the sound of her quietly singing to herself last night. However, as soon as Quinn noticed that he was in her presence, she would revert back to a steely demeanor and blank silence. His own child hated him.

Matthew forced himself to speak through the tightness in his throat, "Well I'm glad that Quinn is responding so well to Mary. Perhaps I should surrender custody to her… I'm sure Quinn would like that and I bet Mary wouldn't ruin her life as I have."

He reflected on his blame for his wife's early death and his depression crashed back in around him again. Her doctor's were wrong; something could have been done if he hadn't been so foolish. He had been so stupid, so selfish, and so arrogant, and it had cost him the only happiness he had ever known. Matthew pushed his half eaten meal away from him and drained his beer in one final pull, before burying his face into his shaking hands.

He felt Anna and Elsie leave the space beside him, graciously making themselves busy and leaving him alone with his misery. He heard running water, smelled pine scented cleaner, and saw his half eaten meal quietly taken away from behind his partially closed lids. After several minutes of silence, where Matthew's mind tried to chase the feeling of happiness he had felt only minutes ago, Elsie put a gentle hand on his shoulder and spoke to him as one would speak to the dying.

"We're all finished up here for tonight, Mr. Crawley. Is there anything else you'll be needing this evening?"

Matthew kept his face buried in his hands while he answered her.

"No, that will be all for tonight. Thank you both for staying late and watching Quinn for me."

"Oh Yeah!" Matthew lifted his head slightly at Anna's words, his curiosity peaked at the sudden note of recollection in her voice, "I guess we forgot to mention that Mary is still here."

"What?" The surprise in his tone, matched the shock of the news.

"Yeah, when we got your call earlier in the evening, we came up here around 7 to relieve Mary and tell her that we would watch Quinn until you got home, but Elsie found her asleep in Quinn's bedroom."

Elsie nodded her head in agreement and continued explaining, "They both looked so peaceful, that I couldn't bring myself to wake them."

"Okay…" Matthew responded quietly, distracted by the unexpected acceleration of his heartbeat. He was suddenly very nervous and he looked about the room quickly, unsure of what to do with the knowledge that Mary was still there.

Elsie saw his discomfort, "Would you like for me to go and wake her now?"

"No!"

Matthew had said it much too loudly and much too quickly for it to go unnoticed, but he tried to recover by explaining, "…just let her sleep. I'm not going to be going to bed anytime soon and I'm sure she'll wake up eventually."

Anna and Elsie exchanged uncertain looks and Matthew pulled himself together before reassuring them, "Please, it's fine. Go to sleep and I'll you see both tomorrow."

The two women bid him goodnight and after they departed, Matthew remained sitting in his empty kitchen for a while. He thought back to two weekends ago, and smiled at the memory of how he and Mary had watched the sunset together on the patio.

He had discovered her leaning on the railing, staring thoughtfully out at the lake, watching the boats make their way into the harbor. She had accepted the red wine he had offered to her with a wide smile and he recalled how badly he had wanted to touch her at that moment. He longed to caress her snow-white cheek just once; he would start at the edge of her brow and end at the corner of her lips. It was warm that evening, and she wore a billowing, sleeveless top that would have made him whimper with desire if he had not put so much effort into suppressing it. He stood close next to her, mere inches separating where they rested their arms, and he tried to ignore how his own flesh warmed at the sight of the exposed, bare canvas of her white skin. Her arms and hands were naked to his eyes and he longed to see more of her, dazed in his wondering of whether or not the rest of her would be as flawless. The only movements were that of the descending sun, her wind swept hair, and their rooming eyes—hers were on the water, his were on her body, paying special attention to the lines at the corners of her eyes, the sharp planes of her shoulders, and the deep impressions surrounding her clavicles. As the earth finally rotated the sun deep into the water and the sky was covered in a variety of deep blacks and bright blues, Mary turned to look at him. Matthew felt his gut clench and he was struck by the sudden desire to know what it would feel like to have her body flush against his. Neither one of them spoke aloud, though they understood each other perfectly. Their eyes said everything that their lips couldn't put into words. Her face was an open book and he could read, speak, and understand every word. Then, a great heartbreak came upon them and Mary quickly looked away from him, her expression pained. He broke at the lost connection, and an irritated and pleading gasp left his body has he took a hesitant step towards her, wordlessly begging for her to look at him again. Mary's only response was to silently hand her empty wine glass back to him and slowly walk back inside. Matthew spent the rest of evening staring at the impressions of fingerprints on the clear glass, determined to learn every curve and twist of her body.

His sighed and heard his broken breath echo around his empty kitchen. His mind was hypnotized by the memory of her, and he mechanically stood and slowly walked towards the place that she would be sleeping. He craved the peace that she would unknowing bestow upon him. She was his sweet relief—like heavy rain on dry, cracked earth.

Matthew held his breath as he turned the handle to enter into his daughter's silent bedroom; he then felt that same seized breath swiftly sucked from his trembling body as he gazed upon the image in front of him. The rain still continued its thunderous assault outside, but the faded glow of the city lights casting a soft, muted light on the two forms peacefully sleeping by the glass windows. Mary sat in the rocking chair in the corner of the large room and the slow and even rise and fall of her chest peacefully rocked against Quinn's small body, as it lay curled in the woman's lap. His child had both arms around Mary's neck, and Mary had her long arms wrapped around his child's small body, her fingers splayed open, covering nearly inch of his daughter's tiny back. Arranged in this way, the two were chest to chest, silently suspended in a seated and motionless hug. Quinn's angelic face was relaxed against the hollow of Mary's long, white neck, and Mary's cheek rested, flush against the crown of the child's head. Their shared breathing was calm and deep, and Matthew found that his was tight and caught.

He had to lean against the doorframe, the serene and lovely image too much for his weary legs. He didn't know how long he stood there watching them sleep, but he did know that he could serve out the rest of his days, only standing and watching their shared slumber.

Lightening flashed brightly across the black night sky, causing Mary to stir slightly. He could tell that her body was fighting against consciousness, desiring to stay in the darkness of slumber, but eventually her eyes slowly fluttered open.

Matthew silently sunk further into the dark hallway, wanting to observe her from an unseen shadow. He saw her take a moment to gather herself before standing, making a visible attempt to control her every movement, not wanting to jostle the sleeping child in her arms. Mary clutched his child to her chest tightly, placing one arm underneath Quinn's bottom and placing her other hand possessively against the back of the girl's small head, her long fingers getting lost in strawberry colored ringlets. She gracefully strode over to Quinn's bed, and Matthew saw her place a lingering kiss on the top of the sleeping child's head, just has he had done, before gently placing her in the middle of the large bed and pulling the covers over her limp body. She stood, unmoving beside Quinn's bed for a handful of his ragged and stolen heartbeats and Matthew saw the adoration she harbored for the sleeping child plainly exposed across the surface of her striking features.

Lightening flashed suddenly again, casting the entire room in a hot-white glow, and, in that short time, Mary had found him. In that quick explosion of light, he saw the surprise in her eyes and the part of her lips. Darkness engulfed the room again and Matthew breathed twice before he saw her curving silhouette, black against the muted city lights, move towards him in the dark.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. He held is breath until she was inches away from him, sure that the she could hear the loud, erratic pounding of his heart. He opened his body up to her and she smiled at him sweetly. He heard his own heavy breathing and wanted only to give himself to her and know nothing but the heat of her body and the taste of her skin. She moved to his side, and he felt the soft fabric of her shirt brush against his hand, which curved and flexed towards her, wanting to maintain the contact. The air she stirred as she passed by him bore the scent of her sweet smelling perfume and he tasted the air with his tongue and he unconsciously wet his lips. Their bodies were faced in opposite directions but their heads were still turned toward one another, neither fighting against the impossibility of looking away.

Mary then turned and took three paces backwards down the hall, and Matthew saw her rich, dark eyes once more before the shadows of the darkened hallway collapsed in around her face. He watched as her body slowly turned away from him and he knew that he would seek her out in the darkness. She was wordlessly beckoning for him to follow her into the front room, and Matthew pursued her without hesitation, like a dried out man in search of cool water.

Once they were in the dimly lit living room, Mary kept her back to him and Matthew shamelessly admired the curves, dips, and planes of her body. Her physique was a perfect work of symmetry; she curved and dipped in all the right places. Her spine curved like a tight bow, and her limbs were long, lean, and delicate; her skin was as white as newly fallen snow, and her long hair was as dark as night. Her body was were beauty, sensuality, passion, and yearning all collided into one.

Several moments passed before Mary eventually turned back to look at him. She met his eyes momentarily, and Matthew was sure that the vigor with which she looked at him would peal the paint off the walls behind him. She eventually broke the link and looked at her feet and Matthew saw her perfect brows contract in irritation. He felt hot and nervous and he was sure that his own flushed skin did not look nearly as lovely as her rose-colored blush.

She returned her eyes to his, and he saw the wide smile she had painted on her face and heard the song of her uncomfortable laughter. Mary lifted her arms and shrugged her shoulders slightly as if saying, 'what now?' and Matthew could tell that she was trying to take some of the passion out of their present environment. She was attempting to maintain a shred of professionalism and a hint of stability, but Matthew silently wondered what the point of it was. Why bother with control when it was so blindly obvious that they both wanted to surrender control to the other?

However, Matthew offered her a small smile in return and reluctantly lowered his eyes from her face, understanding that if they both continued to stare at each other like this they would either make a huge mistake or spontaneously combust, leaving behind only piles of ash.

"Good evening, Matthew." Her voice was as smooth and as deep as a calm sea.

"Good evening, Mary." His was as steady as the steel structure beneath their feet and over their heads.

"I'm sorry I dozed off like that."

"It's no problem." Matthew wanted to tell her how is heart had both pounded and melted at the sight of her tenderly holding his daughter, but the words wouldn't come to his dumbstruck mind.

He spluttered again, "It's no problem at all…"

She looked away again and he saw another pink flush rise to her cheeks. Matthew discovered that he was growing envious of her blood, because it got to freely flow and wind through her system and endlessly warm her flesh.

He changed the subject; "I wanted to thank you again for staying here last weekend. I hope it wasn't too much of a trouble."

"No, it was fine. Quinn and I had a good weekend together and Anna stayed with me Saturday night."

"Yeah, Anna showed me the new skill that you taught her. It's very impressive."

He saw her look of confusion and Matthew continued by explaining and mimicking Anna's earlier motions, "The beer-bottle, thing."

He adored the way her face lit up with sudden understanding a moment later. Her dark eyes sparkled brightly and another devastatingly gorgeous smile broke across her face, the dimness of the room making her dimples look deeper than normal. Matthew's answering smile was automatic.

"Oh yeah!" She paused laughing. "I'm not much of a beer drinker myself but I did learn to do that several years ago and, I admit, I enjoy showing it off when I can."

She laughed again and the sound was pure and cathartic and it warmed every nook and cranny of his body, making him glow with happiness.

Suddenly, a small vibration filled the large room, and he saw her jump. Mary quickly recovered and reached around to her back pocket, from which she pulled a phone concealed within a glossy red case. He watched as her cheerful face slowly fell; it first morphed into something akin to scrutiny and then changed into a look of obvious frustration. He saw her brow crinkle and her jaw clench at whatever was flashing brightly across her phone's screen. Her eyes traveled quickly from left to right, her face growing more and more annoyed with every passing moment. Her whole body hand gone rigid, and Matthew was just about to ask whether something was wrong before she let out an irritated sigh and rolled her eyes dramatically. She shook her head from side to side several times before sliding the phone into her back pocket again, not bothering to respond to whomever had texted her.

He hadn't meant to chuckle at her annoyed expression but his small laugh echoed loudly around the room and when Mary returned her eyes to him, it was clear that the woman was infuriated.

Matthew grew somber and serious at her appearance. "Sorry."

She only continued to glare at him and Matthew felt as if he were back in grade school and his teacher had caught him in some sort of wrongdoing. The change in her appearance and demeanor was drastic, and Matthew realized, all too late, that whatever she had read on the screen had obviously upset her more than he had grasped.

Her body was still tightly wound, her arms crossed and her shoulders tense, and Mary's responding voice was as cold as ice, "No, that bit of annoyance just reminded me of something else that has really been bothering me and I need to discuss it with you."

"Ok." Matthew heard the trepidation and fear in his own voice. Why did it feel as if he were heading into a war zone clad only in his underwear?

"I really didn't want to do this tonight, but that text, and the five others he's sent me in the past two hours, just reminded me of what happens when problems aren't addressed."

Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat.

Mary spoke quickly, as if the words were burning her pink tongue, "I've tried to be on your side with all of this, Matthew. I've tried to be patient and understanding and I've even stuck up for you on different occasions but I'm tired of fighting the blinding truth in this whole mess. I've bit my tongue on numerous occasions, but I can't keep silent anymore."

Matthew suddenly knew where this conversation was heading, and his heart sank at the inevitability. She could open up the depths of his heart with just one lingering glance but now he could feel himself raising the bridges around his heart, his defense mechanisms taking over.

He swallowed again and answered her coolly, "I'm listening."

"Your daughter is suffering."

He knew it was coming but it was a blow nonetheless. He tried to remain civil, "Perhaps, but not like before."

"Just like before, Matthew." She was starting to tremble with her anger.

"I've noticed wonderful progress in her and so have Anna and Elsie." He heard her breathe deeply once before continuing. "You've been…amazing…an enormous help and I will forever be in your debt."

He was nearly pleading with her so that she would understand. He didn't want to go down this dark road with her, and he noticed how desperate he sounded but he just didn't care.

"But what's going to happen when I leave in a year, or rather ten months?"

"I…"

"Or when she starts school at the end of August? That's only two months away. I won't be able to spend this much time with her forever."

"I know that…"

"Why do you ignore your child, Matthew?"

There it was.

She had shouted it to the room and it was out in front of them, occupying the space between her flushed and shaking body and his stoic and blank form.

Matthew tried to steady himself, determined to stay calm, "I remain at a distance for my own good reason. I'll need you to trust me on that."

"I can not and will not do that because it's hurting your child."

He thought of his dearly departed wife, "It's for her own good."

Mary was temporarily stunned by his response, and her shocked words were breathless. "Do you hear yourself? You've seen how she suffers. How can you honestly believe that?"

He moved closer to her and he felt her warm, labored breathing across his face. He pleaded with her, reaching his clenched fists out to her, "It is, Mary… Please, I beg you, please trust me."

But Mary would not be calmed, "You're a coward. That's all you really are, shutting yourself away from her."

He stood up strait and spat back his retort, "You don't know anything about it."

"You're right. I don't and neither does she." He could see the whites of her wide eyes and noticed that they were starting to become moist at the corners but she pressed on. "Do you expect a child to understand something so complicated? All she understands is that her father doesn't love her."

He felt as if she had struck him and his chest burned as he responded, "That's not true…you know that's not true, Mary."

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it."

He turned and started to walk away from her, knowing that this conversation wasn't going anywhere. He was determined to put as much distance between himself and her biting remarks, but her next words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"She asked me about her mother today."

Matthew turned back around abruptly and he looked at her as he never had before. He saw Mary's fury wavier slightly and it was obviously that she clearly saw the haunted man before her. She lowered her voice several octaves but she continued to press on.

"Did you know that? Your daughter asked me if I knew her mother because she wanted to know what she was like." He saw a tear drop from her right eye and watched it as it slowly rolled down her cheek; it touched the corner of her mouth before it rolled off the edge of her jaw.

Her voice broke as she spoke, "She just wanted to know what she was like…" Mary shook her head slowly and begged him, reaching into the emptiness in front of her, "What am I suppose to do with that, Matthew?"

He felt his own tears burn the back of his eyes and it physically hurt to speak through the tightness in his chest, "You don't understand."

"God, Matthew, what is it? I'm begging you, please tell me so I'll understand." Her voice began to rise again, "I know that you have your own convoluted reasons for keeping yourself from her but don't hide her mother from her as well."

"I keep myself from my daughter because once she's old enough to understand the truth of her mothers death, she'll really hate me forever." The words had left his mouth with out his knowledge and he saw fear flash across her face.

"She's already going to grow up hating you."

"Then so be it." The coldness of his own voice shocked him.

His word had temporarily stunned her again. "Who are you? I felt like I was starting to get a feel for you, but I'm beginning to think that it was an illusion."

He ignored her question, "Am I going to fight with you over this subject for the rest of your employment?"

"Yes." She answered swiftly, without hesitation and Matthew saw the truth of her answer reflected in her dark eyes.

He laughed humorlessly and ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly.

"Great!" He was shouting now too, "I'm so looking forward to the next year of you prying into my past."

"Only for as long as Quinn is suffering because of your delusional idea that ignoring her is somehow more beneficial."

"She'll know the truth soon enough and then she'll really hate me."

"What on earth happened to your wife?"

His fury was palpable and he moved close to her again, wanting to ensure that she understood his next words. She had to incline her head slightly to look up into his face and he could smell her perfume, the wonderful scent evoking the image of a dew soaked meadow covered in wild flowers. Lightening flashed white again, throwing one side of her face into deep shadow and casting the other side in a luminous glow. He was closer to her than he had ever been before, and they breathed the same caught air.

Matthew spoke, and he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming unashamedly across her features, "The thoughts of my past would keep you up at night, Mary."

"Thoughts of you already keep me up at night, Matthew."

He stepped back from her quickly as he felt their shared heat ignite the room once more.

Did she realize what she had just said to him? Matthew was sure that she did because he saw the lovely color rise to her cheeks once more and he knew that the longing in her eyes matched up perfectly with the desire in his. Were they destined to spend the rest of their existence in this permanent dance? Would they dwell endlessly in this eternal suspension between resentment and obsession? He had wanted to break something mere seconds ago but now he only wanted to destroy any obstacle that kept him from her. Mary was his bane and his blessing in equal parts; she was a constant and beautiful temptation.

Their heavy breathing matched up perfecting and her dark eyes bore deeply into his. Matthew could tell that she was determined not to be the first one to look away this time. He swayed under her gaze and after several loaded moments he let his eyes slowly leave her face, though he did let them slowly take in the expanse of her body, before resting somewhere on floor between them.

The vibration of her phone broke the silence again and Mary let out an audible grunt of frustration as she reached around to silence the buzzing without bothering to look at the screen. She then moved past him, and Matthew turned his head to watch her retrieve her bag from the couch. She threw the satchel over her shoulder and started to walk past him again, heading for the door.

Just before she was out of reach, Matthew reached out and grabbed her tightly around the wrist. Her progression was quickly stopped and Mary slowly turned her head to look at the spot where they were connected. Matthew realized suddenly that this was the first time he had ever touched her, and he immediately regretted that it happened under these circumstances—it should have been a friendly hold, a loving cress, or a passionate embrace. His fingers wrapped easily around her delicate bones, and the feel of her pulse captivated him; it danced, quick and strong, under his touch and he found himself studying the rhythm. Her skin was inhumanly soft, the texture somewhere between woven silk and crushed velvet. She looked up at him then, and Matthew loosened his grip but he did not let go.

He spoke to her quietly, "Where are you going?"

"Where do you think? I'm going home."

"Not in this rain."

"Yes, I am."

"Do you even have a jacket? It's a five minute walk to the train and you'll be soaked in thirty seconds."

She shifted her weight but did not pull her arm from his grasp, "So I'll hail a cab."

Matthew looked at her from under his brow, "In Chicago…while it's raining."

"Well, I'm not staying here tonight."

"Fine, I'll drive you."

He suddenly noticed that his thumb had been tracing small circles on he inside of her wrist and Matthew quickly dropped her wrist and then clenched his hand into a tight fist. His clasped, trembling hand hung heavily by his side and Matthew noticed that the parts of his hand that had touched her white skin were still burning hot.

Mary slowly lowered her arm to her side and Matthew thought that she looked slightly disappointed, "That's not necessary."

"Please, you live in Lincoln Park, right? There's not too much traffic, it'll take fifteen minutes."

She paused considering, "Who's going to watch Quinn?"

"Anna will still be up watching the Cubs game. She won't mind, especially when I tell her it's so I can take you home."

She didn't respond, and Matthew took her silence as consent.

Five minutes later they were pulling out of The Pearl's underground garage and into the sodden streets of downtown Chicago. Matthew was an incredibly wealthy man but he hardly ever prided himself on showing off his riches to the world. His wealth was so vast that he, his daughter, his daughter's children, and his daughter's children's children would remain in the highest tax bracket for as long as they all lived. He lived a luxurious life, but never really flaunted his capital to others; however, his Aston Martin V12 Zagato was an exception to the rule. The car was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship and ingenuity and he loved showing it off. The outside was a glossy cherry-red and nearly every surface of its interior was adorned in black leather. Its body was sporty and sleek with rounded edges and curving ends. Really, his car was the embodiment of sex on four wheels. He still got a thrill of excitement when he started the engine and he would freely admit that he felt like James Bond when he drove it. So, he enjoyed the sensation of his own swelling pride when he saw the look of impression on Mary's face. Though she was still irritated with him and she was trying to hide it, there was no denying that she was in awe of the automobile.

The inside of Matthew's Zagato was luxurious and cozy, but the cramped space now felt claustrophobic amongst all of the unsaid things and the burning tension between himself and the woman that now occupied the leather set next to him. The city itself was nearly as quite as they two, their shared, heavy silence was only occasionally broken my Mary's spoken directions.

She stared out of the window in front of her and Matthew tried to do the same, but he kept on stealing brief glances at her. Her profile was stunning, the passing city lights casting deep shadows and colored highlights across her carved but soft features. After he nearly ran a red light, Matthew tired with all of his might to focus only on the road in front of him. However, he couldn't stop from noticing the way in which Mary held her left arm out at an awkward angle. Her forearm was bent away from her body and lap, and her fingers were flexed and splayed open on the edge of her seat, almost as if she were reaching across the console to where his own hand rested on the gear shifter. He suppressed the urge to touch her again, tightening his grip on the leather clad shifter, but he wondered how long he would be able to fight the inevitability of it—he would _have_ to touch her again and he would make sure that it was done under very different circumstances.

Several minutes later, Matthew slowly idled the car in front of an old, brick structure. He looked up at her apartment building's stained glass windows and crooked structure, and smiled in recognition. He decided against telling Mary that he owned the building she lived in, figuring that tonight was not the right night to disclose that bit of information.

Her heard the click of her seatbelt and the corresponding moan of the strap coiling automatically, but she did not move from her position beside him. Mary was looking at her tangled fingers in her lap and Matthew saw the look of quite contemplation on her face. He relaxed into a peaceful silence as he watched her brow crinkled adorably and her full, blood red lips pucker. Matthew watched her struggle for words for several moments and then accepted the fact that the woman next to him would be the closest he would ever come to heaven. His soul was meant for damnation, but before God inevitably casts him into the fiery abyss, he gave him a place of safe refuge and peace—she was his own personal Garden of Eden.

She looked up at him then and Matthew wondered what she would do if he leaned over the foot of empty space between them, and pressed his lips against hers.

"Thank you for the ride. You're right, I would have been miserable walking to the train in this rain."

"It's no trouble at all."

She spoke suddenly but her voice remained soft, "I'm sorry about tonight. I wanted to discuss that with you but I had intended on doing it in a more professional manner. I let my temper get the best of me and I apologize for it."

"I should apologize too. I shouldn't have been so angry with you."

She opened her mouth but her unspoken words died in her throat; however, Matthew knew what the she would have said. They were still torn on the subject of he and Quinn's relationship, but they both knew that bringing it up again would only lead to another argument and that would do them no good tonight.

Yellow light from an opening door fell across the street in front of them and both Mary and Matthew looked to their right, where they saw a man standing in the entryway of her apartment building. The man's arms were crossed and, though he couldn't be sure from this distance, Matthew assumed that the man wore a scowl upon his face.

"I had better get inside." Mary spoke quietly, her eyes still on the unknown man and Matthew felt a sudden sting of pain at how defeated she sounded.

"Ok... I'll see you tomorrow."

She turned back to him and nodded. Matthew then spoke again, remembering, "Oh, and you'll enjoy staying over this weekend, this Saturday being the Fourth of July. I barbeque and Anna and Elsie will stay late for the fireworks. We'll have an excellent view of the show because the city shoots them off over the lake."

"Yeah. I'm sure Quinn will enjoy that."

"Actually, last year she was a little frightened but she's older this year so we'll see."

She smiled at him before turning her head back towards the man and Matthew noticed how her face fell into lines of misery.

She sounded sad as she spoke. "Good night, Matthew."

He tried to sound reassuring, "Good night, Mary."

She opened the door and got out then, and Matthew watched her every step as she danced around rain puddles towards the yellow glow and warmth of her home. She barely made eye contact with the unknown man as she passed him and headed for an old wooden staircase, and Matthew bent low in his seat so that he could continue to watch her retreating form. The man in door had turned to watch her go too, and Matthew got a final glimpse of her black heals as she ascended the stairs, before the top of the doorframe blocked his view.

Matthew sat up straight again and shifted the car into drive just as the man in the doorway, who could only be Mary's boyfriend, turned to glare at him. Matthew already didn't like the man because he had the privilege of knowing something that his heart longed to experience, but the malicious way in which the older man glared at him and the possessive way in which he had look upon Mary, made despising him all too easy for Matthew. He stared daggers back at the man, and felt a little proud when the man's demeanor flattered slightly. He heard him slamming the door over the pouring rain and Matthew's masculine pride was immediately replaced with concern for the woman he adored. He now knew from personal experience that Mary could hold her own in any type of argument but Matthew couldn't suppress his panicked worry for her. The man had looked to be slightly crazed by his obvious irritation, and Matthew's hands trembled with concern.

He stayed parked outside her apartment until every light in the building went out, not knowing behind which brightly colored window she dwelled. He then drove in a daze, and he couldn't remember how he got home as he once more crawled inside the elevator and relieved Anna for the second time. Matthew was haunted by new and vivid images that night, and the fact that another man's arms would be wrapped tightly around her and that another would know the pleasure of her scent and the suppleness of her skin, tormented him endlessly. He gave up on sleep around three and as he watched the night sky dry and the bright pink sun come up that morning, Matthew thought only of her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone. I would suggest that you use the restroom or get a drink before you start this chapter because it's quite lengthy. I didn't set out for it to be so long, in fact I battled against writer's block for several weeks, but it ended up being just over 13,000 words. Once the word's came, they wouldn't stop. I was also fortunate enough to have one of my lovely readers volunteer to do a beta-read for me, so this chapter will be much cleaner (spelling and grammar) than the previous ones. A million thanks goes out to her. And a million more thank yous for all of you that have read, followed, and reviewed.**

**I ripped this chapter from my soul…I hope you enjoy it. **

…

Mary Crawley was currently standing waste-deep in hot water.

Literally…

…and perhaps 'warm' would be a more accurate description of the pleasantly tepid water. The aqua blue liquid, turned dark by the pimpled but still-smooth surface beneath her bare feet, was the exact temperature to be qualified as perfect to her nearly naked body. One degree less would be too cold, one degree more would be too hot. But no chills broke down her spine and ran across her arms, and no beads of sweet formed on her brow.

The bright July sunlight shone hotly through the glass windows of The Pearl's fortieth floor, cooking the cool air, making the large, chlorine scented room artificially humid. Mary could see the ever-present city skyline stretched out far to the west and knew that the city below was abuzz with excited holiday traffic, though no evidence of its sounds permeated the thick glass. The only disturbances in the peaceful silence were the noises of her own making— her steady breathing and the occasional soft rippling of water, as her body broke through its mirrored surface. Her surroundings were composed of elegantly carved and polished stone, the colors of gold, ivory, sapphire, and quartzes. Potted tropical greenery and Grecian styled chaise lounges were scattered randomly throughout the room and purposely tucked into corners. The obligatory printed swimming rules, bright red against pure white, and a solitary orange life preserver, were the only eyesores breaking up the lavishness of her environment.

Mary was standing in the shallow section of one of The Pearl's large indoor swimming pools, in the exact same spot that she had stood in periodically for seven of the last nine days. Her arms were stretched out in front of her, palms open and fingers flexed and beckoning to the small child who stood, slightly raised, three feet in front of her.

"Come on darling. You know I'll catch you."

Quinn was currently standing at the pool's edge, all ten of her small toes curled over the pool's stone rim. Her stress at her current situation was clearly expressed over her delicate and round features. Mary clearly saw Quinn's internal battle between fear, desire, contemplation, doubt, and hope, as her blond eyebrows crinkled and rose in accordance with her elevated anxiety.

"Come on darling…" Mary pleaded with her again, urging her with ringing hands in the humid, empty air.

For a moment it looked is if Mary had convinced her, and the child gathered herself, bending low and moving her weight to her legs, readying herself to jump the enormous distance of three feet into the forgiving and warm water. Mary shifted her stance and loosened her tense arms, wanting to ensure Quinn's soft landing against her. Then, just as Mary's eyes widened in the anticipation of her jump, the child changed her mind, standing abruptly and taking a single step back from the edge.

Mary struggled to hold in her sigh of frustration and took a second to look down at her bare torso suspended in the blue water, noticing how the smooth water easily broke around her frame. She saw her naked stomach rise and fall along with her breath, and took another moment to gather herself before she met the girl's eye.

"Okay…Okay…" Mary said slowly to the child, who was currently tracing small circles into the polished floor with her right foot, "What are you so scared of darling?"

The endearment became Mary's name for Quinn several weeks ago, and it had come just as naturally as it had when Mary started calling Sybil the same name when she was just a child herself.

The stress in Quinn's eyes made its way to her vocal cords, making her already high-pitched voice more strained, "I'm afraid you won't catch me."

"But didn't I catch you yesterday?"

"Yes," she continued to trace patterns with her toes.

"And didn't I catch you the day before?"

"Yes,"

"And haven't I caught you every time you've jumped?"

The girl finally looked into her eyes and Mary knew that she had convinced her, "Yes."

Mary smiled sweetly at her, and a responding smile almost caught the corner of the girl's small curving lips…almost. What Mary would give to see her smile…

"Okay…" Mary continued through her smile, "Let's go on the count of the five." She raised her arms again, showing a clear target to the girl as the child hesitantly stepped to the edge of the pool's smooth surface once more.

Quinn let out a slow heavy sigh that would have made Mary laugh, if she didn't know how truly worried the girl was.

These trips to the pool had first started as ways to get her out of the penthouse nearly a month ago, once Mary had decided, during one of her many sleepless nights, that she needed to break Quinn of her fear of leaving the glass walls of her home. They first traveled within the building itself, exploring the vastness of The Pearl together. They rode the high-speed elevators with William and dodged disapproving looks from Thomas as they wandered into empty ballrooms and forgotten corridors. Mary carried Quinn almost the entire time those first few days and her arms grew weak with strain. Through sheer power of will and her overpowering desire to break through the child's fear, Mary pushed on without complaint.

Then, three weeks ago, Mary carried Quinn out of The Pearl's front doors, and into the streets of downtown Chicago. Passers-by on the street probably assumed that she was kidnapping the girl the way Quinn fought against her, kicking and screaming through a torrential downpour of tears. For a solid hour Mary held her tight to her chest and whispered assurances in her ear, all while fighting against her own burning tears as they sat on a city bench just outside The Pearl's main entrance.

"One…"

Looking back now, Mary felt immensely relieved that the aggressive form of therapy hadn't backfired completely. After Quinn's initial hysterics had subsided, having to fight off two different rounds of wet hiccups, and after she had sat and watched the many different types of people pass by her, all from within the safe cage of Mary's long arms, Quinn eventually walked back inside the doors of The Pearl under her own power, though her grip on Mary's hand remained vice-like. The next day was much the same, though this time her tantrum didn't last nearly as long, nor was it as extreme. The day that followed that, Quinn had seemed to accept her fate and although her grip around Mary's body remained tight and strained, as if she were trying to fuse to Mary's torso, not a single tear was shed. Since then, most days Mary and Quinn went somewhere together within the city, though never too far out of the shadow of The Pearl. Mostly, they ventured to the park, a second-hand bookstore they had discovered by accident, or a coffee shop where Mary would procure her second caffeine fix for the day. Quinn would sip on a chocolate milk or apple juice, before eventually finding an untainted page within the public coloring books and set about filling its blank spaces with the colors from broken crayons and dull pencils.

"Two…"

About a week and a half ago, it had rained, and their outing for the day was restricted to the interior of The Pearl once more. After an hour of wandering hand-in-hand, they had found themselves at the private pool again. This pool was meant only for residents of The Pearl's five penthouses, and though it was slightly smaller than the pool used by other residents and hotel guests, its seclusion made it more private and, thus, more ideal for their purpose. Mary saw Quinn eyeing the pool curiously and decided the next day to take the risk on another form of therapy. Their outings to the pool became trust exercises in which Quinn would willingly jump into Mary's arms, knowing that she would catch her. The first four days Quinn never made it into the water, but on the fifth day, she finally jumped. Her eyes had been closed and she only jumped with half of her heart, leaving her flight through the air short, requiring Mary to dive forward, in order to ensure that she would catch the frightened girl. Mary's excitement with their success, as she joyously twirled her around in the warm water, did not match up with the look of horror on Quinn's face, who looked like she was still in shock at the terrifying act she had just accomplished. The next day did not see the same success, but the two days that followed had. Yesterday, Mary had probably caught her twenty times, and her arms were ragged with stiffness and sore muscles, but she continued to push on, determined not to lose the girl's hard-earned trust.

Though, looking at Quinn now, as the child stood before her trembling slightly with fear, Mary knew that this initial jump into the water was still terrifying to her.

"Three…"

Though even if Mary did fail to catch her there was no way that Quinn's strawberry colored head would even fall below the surface, let alone would she sink to the bottom—the girl was the very definition of buoyant. The child stood before her wearing a pair of yellow water wings around her soft ivory arms and a small pink polka-dotted inner tube around her midsection. Even if lead weights were tied to her feet, Mary doubted very much that she would go under. Beneath her flotation devices, Quinn wore a swimsuit that Mary was particularly fond of. Mary continuously dressed Quinn in what the child referred to as the "ducky" swimsuit— the whole suit was stark white and the front bore a pair of cartoon blue eyes and an orange duck bill, the sides of the suit had two small white wings, and Quinn's tiny bottom was adorned with a protruding duck tail, that waddled from side to side as she walked.

The particular pair of yellow tinted goggles that Quinn currently wore, the tightness of the elastic mushrooming her wispy locks of hair and the yellow hue turning her eyes an unfamiliar shade of green, were chosen specifically by Mary after their first day at the pool.

That initial day at the pool Quinn had worn clear frames over her frightened eyes, causing Mary to panic nearly as much as the child had.

Quinn's bright blue eyes, in these stressful situations, were too much like his...

"Four…"

Quinn shifted her feet, readying herself for her leap into the great unknown, and she cast Mary the same look that she had given her on that first day at the pool and every day that followed it. Mary saw now, just as she had seen then, the trepidation in the child's eyes but also Quinn's desire to please her and be with her.

He often gazed at her with the same longings…

Mary readied her own stance in the pool, and said a silent prayer of thanks for the distorting lens that changed her father's brilliant blue eyes to a dull green.

Mary had insisted upon the goggles, after seeing Quinn look at her the same way Matthew often did.

This look of fear and longing and uncertainty and faith, crashing and melting into something that had not been named, something that undid her over and over again, something that left her burning for hours, something, that if it could be bottled, Mary would hoard and keep all to herself—she would line her walls and floors with the feeling of his eyes on her.

Mary carried the memory of Matthew with her always. Sometimes he was the pleasant tingle in her fingertips. Other times he was the pressure on her forth rib, or at the base of her spine. She often sensed him ghost across the back of her neck in the dead of night, and once she felt his presence warm the patch of skin between her breasts. She felt the full weight of him on her shoulders almost daily, and his lingering grip on her wrists chained him permanently to her. She was made heavy by his constant memory, but completely unwilling to remove his impression.

Mary had to physically fight off the glowing sensation of him and focus again on his daughter, who stood trembling with fear in front of her—his daughter, whom Mary loved effortlessly.

"Five."

For half a second it looked like Quinn was not going to jump, and Mary's heart fell again with disappointment. Then, in a single, shaking movement, the child squatted low, building her strength in her legs as if she were attempting to jump to the moon and not the span of three feet. Quinn held the position for a moment, her legs tight and her tiny fists clenched, and looked intently at the target of Mary's arms. Mary waited with baited breath, feeling her brow crinkle and her mouth fall open.

Then Quinn jumped and Mary watched, as if in slow motion, the girl's short flight through the air. When she caught her, half in the water and half out, Mary already had a smile on her face and a laugh in her chest. She spun Quinn around in the water as she usually did, craning her neck in the hopes of seeing the same smile on the girl's face. However, just as the many times before, no smirk broke across the child's face though Mary could tell that Quinn was pleased with herself as the child gazed back at her. Quinn looked like she _could have_ smiled, her eyes were wide and clear, and her face serene and lovely, but no joy permeated her ever-present emotional walls.

Perhaps she had forgotten how…

For the next hour Quinn jumped into Mary's arms another two dozen times and they swam together in the large, empty pool. "Swimming" of course meaning that Quinn would float, like a small cork not really going anywhere, or Mary would either float on her back with Quinn lying flush against her chest or she would walk in the deeper end with the girl placed securely on her back, Quinn's small arms like soft ropes wrapped tightly around her neck. One day Mary hoped to actually teach the girl how to swim but, unfortunately, that wouldn't be for a while.

Once Mary announced to Quinn that it was time to get out, dry off and go upstairs, Quinn was reluctant to leave the warm water.

"I don't want to leave yet."

"But it's almost time for dinner." Mary took a moment, steadying her breath before mentioning him. "Your father will be expecting us."

However, the sound of Matthew's name had no affect on Quinn whatsoever; in fact, it made her seem even more determined not to leave the pool.

Quinn, who was currently bobbing up and down in the water a few feet in front of Mary, made to move deeper into the pool, but her attempt was laughably unsuccessful. She didn't know how to move through the water and she looked exactly like what Mary imagined a new fawn would look like if it were to suddenly find itself in deep water. Quinn was all arms and legs; her limbs were splashing, flailing and fighting for purchase in the water. Her neck was tense and strained, trying to keep her face out of the waves her attempts were creating. However, despite a valiant effort and massive amounts of will, no movement was achieved.

Mary suppressed a grin with forced effort and watched as Quinn slowly gave up on her attempts. She eventually stilled and raised her artificially green eyes to Mary.

The child spoke seriously and quietly, "Do we have to?"

Mary smiled and walked towards her through the water. She scooped her up, pleased that Quinn didn't fight back, and headed for the stone steps, which stretched into the deep blue water.

"Of course we do darling." They exited the pool, water running off of their lower halves in copious amounts and pooling about her feet. Mary placed a quick kiss on the side of Quinn's head before placing her steadily on the cold stone floor. She continued with a smile, "Besides, it's the Fourth of July. Don't you want to watch the fireworks?"

Quinn reached up and took hold of Mary's hand as they walked to where their things were placed on a nearby lounge chair. "No. They're too loud and I don't like how they shake the building."

Mary brushed off the girl's comment with a shrug of her shoulders, deciding to battle Quinn's fear when the actual moment came about.

Mary helped Quinn towel off, putting special effort into trying not to look too deeply into the girl's eyes as she removed her yellow goggles. She then helped Quinn dress, simply placing her dry clothes over her wet suit, knowing that she would have to bathe her as soon as they got upstairs anyway. Mary then briefly attempted to draw the chlorinated water out of her own hair with her towel before giving up and dressing hastily. She threw her navy tank top over the top of her wine-red swimsuit, and shimmied into her shorts before sliding into her flip flops and shoving their things, damp towels and Quinn's floatation devices, into a large beach bag.

A minute later, they were standing silently in the private penthouse elevator and Quinn was still holding tightly to her hand. The girl had taken to grasping her hand nearly every moment they were outside of the penthouse, and a thrill of pride and relief always rapturously spread throughout Mary's chest every time she felt the girl's fingers, soft but greedy, ask for purchase in the palm of her hand. The girl's hand was delicate and white, as any child's would be, but her grip was surprisingly strong and steady… just as his hand been the other night.

Mary closed her eyes tightly and tried with all of her might not to think of him. Unfortunately, despite her best attempts, her mind couldn't stop itself from traveling down the dark, twisted path and into his presence. She knew that the ride up to the penthouse wouldn't take much time and, after a moment's struggle, Mary surrendered herself to his memory. She knew that she mustn't lose control, not like she had the night before last, but she would allow herself to walk the fine edge between madness and ecstasy; so, Mary spent the short ride with Matthew.

She sighed with relief as her mind traveled back in time to several of their meetings. She spent two seconds remembering how he had loosened his tie and removed his jacket last week; his movements had been slightly violent but still hauntingly erotic. She spent another three seconds remembering how he had poured her a cup coffee one early morning last month; his eyes had been locked steadily on hers the entire time and he still did not spill a drop of the rich, black liquid. She spent a single second remembering how his body looked in his pajamas, long and lean, and how warm he always felt when she was beside him. She spent two more seconds remembering his laugh; it was deep and true, and his cheeks would bunch and his eyes would spark brightly, dazzling her into breathlessness and serenity. She spent three seconds remembering the sunset they had shared; as if God had designed it specifically for them. He had been more than handsome that evening, toeing the line between carnal and spiritual, sexual and sensual. She had memorized the paths his fingers had made in his hair and had mimicked the motions of his pink tongue, wet and cool, as they repeatedly moistened his red lips.

Mary then spent the remaining seconds remembering his touch.

The memory of his skin on hers was almost too much, and she felt her body sway through her closed eyes. Mary slowly opened her eyes and was surprised to see her opposite arm, the one that wasn't still securely in Quinn's grasp, raised to her face, almost as if it had heard her mind beckoning to it through the clear memory.

This was the arm that he had branded as his own…

Mary gazed at the inside of her wrist and she could almost still see the outline of his fingers. It had been four days and four nights since he had reached out in the dark, only intending to stop her progress away from him, not knowing that he would alter her so chemically and so fundamentally. Mary could still feel him there. She could still feel Matthew on those three inches of her skin, like a new tattoo or velvet shackles. Her eyes bore deeply into the small patch of flesh at her wrist and she was amazed to see no physical evidence of him having been there. She half expected to see his name carved over her veins, the cuts fresh and eternal, or at least see the impressions of his fingerprints, set deeply and permanently, into the white clay of her flesh. She could still feel him there, warm and heavy, so surely, there must be some evidence of him? She could still feel his caress, so where was his mark?

Then, in the frustrating and discouraging way that her painful reality always crept up on her when she was least expecting it, like a swift kick to the gut or a hard slap across the face, the thought of Richard burst through Mary's mind.

She was instantly transported back to the present, to the cold elevator, the muffled sound of heavy cords pulling against greasy wheels gravitating them towards the heavens, and the soft hand of the child next to her. The warm glow of Matthew's memory vacated her as swiftly as though it had never been there and Mary was left feeling empty and gasping for air. Her guilt of dwelling so much on another man tasted bitter in her mouth and felt heavy in her gut, and she felt red shame burn her cheeks. Mary closed her eyes tightly and felt the grimace of pain break across her face as she tried again to hide the fact from herself that she was supposed to be in love with someone else.

Mary felt Quinn's light tugging, soft but insistent, before opening her eyes and realizing that the elevator had stopped and was standing open before her. She exhaled heavily, grateful to have a distraction from her burning shame; she was becoming adept to hiding her guilt and the uncomfortable truth behind it by tucking it away somewhere deep inside of herself. Mary let her saving grace pull her forward and by the time they had entered the penthouse, still bright by the early evening sun, she had all but completely forgotten about her guilt.

The mouth-watering smell of melted sugar and rich chocolate filled the air and Quinn's head whipped around in the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh cake!"

It was a childish thing to say and Mary laughed loudly because it was a refreshing reminder that Quinn was in fact only a child of five. Quinn started mindlessly drifting towards the kitchen, and Mary scoped her up in a tight embrace before the child could get any further away from her.

"How about we take a bath first," she whispered in the child's ear and she almost felt the girl giggle, "then we'll see what Anna and Ms. Hughes are making for dinner?"

Quinn made an audible sigh of displeasure but agreed to be carried to her room, where she was scrubbed clean and dressed in a pink summer dress without any further complaint.

After several moments of squirming and fidgeting, Mary gave up on trying to get Quinn's shoes on her and allowed the child to burst out of the room where she then made a direct line for the kitchen, following the heavy scent of sweet baking chocolate. Mary sighed tiredly but happily and eased herself off of Quinn's bedroom floor, where she then followed the sound of the girl's bare feet slapping loudly off the polished wooden floor.

Even as she walked, half of her mind was still immersed in Matthew, unable to separate his essence from the rest of her. She passed the sunlit porch were she had wanted him so badly that she nearly gave up the fight. She walked around the couch were she had found him sleeping two weeks ago; he had looked so peaceful and so beautiful. She walked directly over the spot where she had felt his warm skin for the first time, burning but divine. She saw the bar where they had sat and talked during their shared sleepless nights; she was always more drunk on him than anything he would pour out for her. She blushed upon passing the velvet-crushed billiard's table, the innocent game having made an appearance in several of her new fantasies. Her fingertips ghosted across the smooth dining room table, the place where she had dined with him and his daughter, and where she felt their shared, but still kept, pain and sadness.

Mary heard his daughter's quite murmurings as she approached the kitchen, and she once again quieted Matthew's enduring presence in her mind. Upon entering the bright kitchen, Mary's eyes first landed on the small feast that was laid out on the island. Her eyes traveled across golden corn still on the cob, a lush caprese salad, spicy smelling salsa, smooth guacamole sprinkled with diced pineapple, a fluffy cream colored mousse, raw shrimp placed around red cocktail sauce, a slightly bitter smelling broccoli slaw, and an enormous platter of freshly cut summer fruit: berries, all shades of red and blue, bright green and thinly sliced kiwi, deep pink seedless watermelon, and rich orange mango.

Mary's eyes then landed on the small child standing directly in front of the large oven door, her eyes glued to the oven's insides, which was softly aglow by a single yellow bulb. Anna stood behind Quinn and Mary imagined that she often looked upon the child in the same adoring fashion. Ms. Hughes was standing in front of the open fridge pulling out several cuts of meat, and placing them on an empty wooden cutting board.

Anna saw Mary enter the room out of the corner of her eye and the two women smiled at one another kindly before the former returned to adoring Quinn.

It was Ms. Hughes who spoke first and she addressed the small child sweetly but with a tone that implied that she was slightly overwhelmed.

"Miss Crawley, why don't you move away from there and have a seat?"

Quinn acted as if she hadn't even heard the older woman and continued to stare into the depths of the oven. Mary could almost hear the girl's mouth watering.

Just then Anna moved up behind Quinn and, though she spoke quietly, Mary heard her whispered request, "Why don't you go and have a seat at the island, Quinn, and I'll give you a spoon to lick while you wait for dinner to be ready."

Mary had never seen the girl move so quickly. Less than a second later, the child had pulled herself up onto one of the high top chairs, and though she was trying to patiently wait for her treat, she bounced slightly in her seat.

Anna moved beside Elsie and reached inside the fridge to retrieve a mixing spoon that was covered in a soft, dark, and sticky substance. The sides of Quinn's mouth twisted up slightly and Mary's breath caught in her chest. She stepped forward instantly, determined to bear witness to the girl's first smile in months. Anna offered Quinn the spoon, and the girl grasped the utensil greedily in both of her soft pink hands. However, just like before, though the girl looked like she could have smiled, the small muscles involved in the illusive action would not pull and flex as they were intended, and Mary was left feeling disappointed once more.

Mary sighed and moved deeper into the kitchen, determined not to let her disappointment damper another successful day with Quinn.

Elsie saw her entrance and welcomed her warmly, "Hello Mary, dear. Did you two have a good day at the pool today?"

Everyone knew of their day trips and Anna and Ms. Hughes often enquired into their progression, eager to hear of successes and willing to patiently listen to failures.

Mary returned her warm smile, "We did, thank you." She felt Quinn's eyes on her and Mary spoke more loudly, wanting to ensure that the girl would hear her next words, "Quinn is doing great. I'm really proud of her… I think soon she'll be swimming all by herself."

The two other women knew that the last sentence was for the child's benefit but they both smiled widely and heaped more praise upon Quinn.

"Well done you." Anna said to Quinn while lightly patting her shoulder. Mary was glad to see that the child did not try to duck the friendly touch.

"That's great Quinn." Elsie said enthusiastically and Mary saw Quinn's light blush behind her half cleaned spoon.

"You're being so brave." Anna added again.

"Even I can't swim." Elsie added with a laugh.

Mary knew that it was slightly overkill, but large amounts of praise and healthy affection were exactly what the girl needed most. She caught Quinn's attention and smiled fondly at the girl and Mary's heart skipped a beat at the bright sparkle in her clear blue eyes.

The room was filled with a warm glow and the women subsided into a pleasant silence once more. Anna started in on the dishes, Elsie started adding different seasonings to the cuts of meat, and Quinn continued to meticulously clean her spoon while Mary watched her lovingly from a short distance. The child really had come far in the past eight weeks, but Mary still cringed at the thought of her going to school at the end of next month. Would she have enough time to ready her for the drastic change? The first day of school is an exciting and terrifying experience for any child, let alone one that had just started leaving her home for the first time. She pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside once more, deciding not to worry about them today.

Mary then suddenly became aware of soon-setting sun and asked both women, "What time is dinner planned for?"

It was Anna who responded, nearly up to her elbows in lemon smelling suds, "Well Mr. Crawley just got home a few minutes before you two did."

Mary stopped breathing momentarily, and she felt a little dizzy before her body remembered the natural rhythm of drawing in new air and pressing out the used. She had hardly seen Matthew at all since they fought four nights ago, and though part of her always longed to have him trapped in her eyes, a slightly larger part was glad of his absence. She was still so confused on the matter and she needed separation from him so that she could think clearly, though no clarity had been achieved. She was still maddened by his actions concerning Quinn, still shamed by her own explosions of anger, still desperately curious (and slightly afraid) to understand the mystery of his late wife's death, and still embarrassed by her spoken confession to him.

_Thoughts of you already keep me up at night, Matthew._

Mary internally cringed at the memory. Her declaration had been entirely true but she had never meant for him to know that. She blames her anger and the heat of his eyes…nothing good would come from the combination of the two. She now realized that her avoidance of him would have to end tonight, and Mary felt a thrill of fear and savage pleasure at the thought.

Mary suddenly remembered that Anna was speaking to her, "… and he mentioned something about wanting to take a shower before he started up the grill, buuuuttt, "Anna held out the word dramatically, "he then headed straight for his office instead, saying he had to call someone about something."

Mary could almost hear Anna roll her eyes is exasperation and she chuckled silently at her friend's obvious annoyance with their boss.

Anna continued explaining with a shrug, "The Cubs play at nine-thirty and I don't want to miss the first pitch."

"So," Mary was unsure if Anna had ever actually answered her question and her eye caught Elsie's, "how long do I have to get ready?"

Anna turned at gave her a '_I just told you what time' _look that Mary was able to brush off by giving her a goofy smile that made Anna's annoyance turn into lighthearted laughter.

Elsie answered Mary with her eyes still on the enormous steaks and chicken kabobs in front of her, "I would say it will still be about another thirty minutes before Mr. Crawley is ready to start grilling and, given the size of these steaks that William brought up from Beryl Patmore downstairs, I'd say another thirty minutes after that before we're ready to eat."

"Ok, well, I'll only need about the first thirty. Do you think you could watch Quinn for me while I get ready?"

"Of course dear, take your time."

Mary walked up behind Quinn and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She kissed her quickly three times on her cheek before whispering in her ear, "Be good for Anna and Ms. Hughes. I'll be gone just for a little bit."

She felt the girl nod before she turned and walked away and Mary held her breath until she was out of the kitchen, anxious to see whether or not the girl would demand to follow after her as she had done on several occasions, not wanting to be left alone with anyone else. Mary exhaled gratefully when she didn't hear her small pursuing steps follow her down the hall. Somewhere in the back of her mind Mary registered that Quinn was becoming more comfortable being in the presence of others and she smiled at the thought. Progress. She was seeing progress…slowly but surely.

…Now, if she could just see the same progress in her father.

She watched rays of sunlight and dark shadows dance under his office door and Mary couldn't help herself as she reached out and slowly ran her fingertips across the surface of the wooden door that kept him from her. She passed by silently, wanting to know every thought that crossed his mind that day and wanting to hear every word that fell from his lips; he could think them again and say them again, and she wouldn't mind, she would only listen silently. Hot blood rushed to her face and she sighed heavily as she remembered two nights ago and how thoughts of him had pushed her effortlessly over the edge and into ecstasy.

She tried to stomp out the memory and as Mary reached her bedroom door, she paused outside of it to rest her hand on the curved handle in the attempt to steady her trembling legs. Her body remembered what her mind had unknowingly created and then tried to forget; Matthew forming her…Matthew consuming her…Matthew building her…Matthew destroying her…Matthew writing her…Matthew erasing her…

Matthew…

She heard his door open behind her and saw the brightness of his office flood the darkened hall, and Mary wondered if she had been chanting his name aloud. She turned to face him, unable to deny herself the delicious temptation of being ensnared by his gaze. She sought the pureness of his stare greedily and was rewarded when he immediately locked eyes with her. His surprise at seeing her was clear across his boyish features, and her earlier question was answered. Before she could truly be thankful that her screaming thoughts had not left her mouth, she started silently chanting his name once more. She measured her breaths to match up with his and discovered that the rate of his inspirations were increasing the longer they gazed at one another.

Eventually he thawed out under the heat of her gaze and she saw him glance at the space between them momentarily before returning his eyes to hers and smiling shyly. She adored his crooked smile and felt her own wide grin break across her face without conscious effort.

He moved closer to her in a friendly manner and Mary was just on the edge of asking him how his day had been when she felt it happen.

The strap of her swimsuit came lose against her shoulder and, a moment later, Mary felt it move away from her body and silently fall down her arm, ghosting as lightly as a feature's touch across her exposed flesh. Her eyes where wrapped in his when it happened and she saw the exact moment that his attention was dragged away from her, as if there were a magnet linking his bright eyes to the wine colored slip of wet fabric. He had watched the strap fall down her arm as if in slow motion, and she saw him morph and change before her. His eyes lingered on the fallen tie and he looked at it accusingly and sensually, as if its assent down bare her arm had been the most erotic thing he had ever seen. He was so close to her that she felt the moment that his body caught fire by his desire, igniting something in him that had been dormant for too long.

His eyes slowly raked across her body, wrapping her arm, caressing her shoulder, loving her neck, outlining her jaw, and kissing her face before settling on her eyes again. His eyes were clear and bright, but ablaze with a fire that mimicked the hot glow of Mary's own dark eyes. Did he lick his lips unconsciously, or was he trying to taste her skin? She found that she could easily sympathize with the man because she understood, all to well, his burning and his yearning. They were entranced, dazed, and inebriated by the very existence of the other, and their bodies moved towards one another without conscious effort.

Her mouth moved over his name, though the sound of it did not leave her lips and Mary willed him to do the thing that they both desired. He moved closer and lifted his left arm towards her, his fingers were curled slightly with relaxation but still reaching out towards the thin strap of wine red fabric that had enchanted him so easily. His hand was inches away from her, traveling easily through the empty air, and Mary held her breath in the anticipation of his touch, knowing the destruction it would cause but clarity it would bring in its wake. She wouldn't stop him this time, and they would meet and fall, wrapped and tangled together.

She felt the heat of his fingers directly over the strip of fabric and but still his eyes remained fixed upon hers. He was asking for permission and she was begging for him to continue.

"Mary…" His declaration dripped with desire and she felt the sound of her name boil her blood.

The sounds of a beeping oven, a scrapping chair, and two women talking animatedly to a solitary child, broke through their shared reverie and the world that only they two had inhabited disappeared as though it had never been there; popped as cleanly as if it were a delicate bubble. Mary blushed ashamedly, choked on her tongue, and broke what remained of their trance. Matthew sighed with pain and drew back his arm slowly, bringing his now clenched fist down to rest heavily at his side.

Her shame burned through her delicate flesh and Mary did not look at him again as she turned and entered the guest bedroom, too disgraced by the fact that, only seconds ago, she would have gladly become unfaithful. She closed the door loudly, hoping that the slamming echo would drown out her gasps of pain. She leaned against the cool wooden door heavily, doubled over by her guilt and humiliation and still burning lust.

The door was not enough to shut out the temptation of him and Mary sprinted into her large bathroom, discarding her damp garments as she went.

The first few minutes of her shower could not be cold enough and she shivered violently behind the glass walls. Every inch of her white skin pimpled under the assault of cold water and her delicate hairs stood on their ends, but still her flesh remained white-hot. She burned and shook in equal measure and Mary knew that a most of the tremors that rocked her body were due not to the freezing water, but rather to his icy stare. She grunted loudly and pounded her hands against the dark tile, willing herself to shake him. She was sure that she must looked crazed as her body shook and her limbs tensed, fighting against her desires and her memories. Mary saw white behind her eyes and rung her neck from side to side, sure that by using massive amounts of will, she could forget how he set her ablaze.

Mary's internal rage soon turned into sobs of frustration and she adjusted the temperature of the water before succumbing to her anguish and crumpling into a lose ball on the shower floor. She let the warm water hit her upturned face as she gave up the fight against him, and the broken woman lost track of which hot drops were born in the depths of her eyes.

Unfortunately the first memory of Matthew that returned to her was the one recollection that she was most ashamed of. Mary was infuriated and shamed with herself for taking it so far and she let out another sob of frustration as the images flooded her mind and leveled her heart.

…It was a new memory…One that she had created unknowingly two nights ago, while wrapped in Richard's arms…Her heart had willed the idea to be true, so her mind manufactured the scene perfectly…

_She had been in bed with Richard and, for the first time in their relationship, he could not bring her to ecstasy. They were both becoming frustrated and Mary felt a growing tension inside of her that had nothing to do with building sexual pleasure. She had tightened and squirmed below and above him, trying to force or will her climax to come to fruition, though the elusive satisfaction remained out of reach. At one point they had paused and while Richard questioned what was the matter, Mary was reminded that true sexual pleasure was born not only from physical stimulation but from mental inspiration as well. She closed her eyes tightly and thought of the man before her and as they started again, Mary searched her soul for the love that she had once easily harbored for him. Richard remained hovering above her, meeting and scaling every inch of her body, but he slowly fell through the cracks in her mind. Her thoughts of him dwindled as they continued to move, and before Mary was able to consciously realize the change that had taken place, her mind was submerged in the thoughts of another. _

_Her fantasies took over and her desire for release blossomed anew within her depths. Her pace quickened, her memories of him edging her forward, acting as a guide, and once she was able to recall the exact color of his burning blue eyes, she felt the shift take place. Her eyes remained closed and the faster she moved the deeper he burned her, and she imaged that it was he whom hovered above her and moved within her. It was like being reborn; being made and unmade in the same sexual sensation. She felt the cusp of her ecstasy a moment before it consumed her and as she opened her eyes, wanting to show the beautiful man exactly what he had done to her, it was Matthew's face that she saw in the darkness. The desires of her soul had easily deceived her eyes and she saw his face clearly; his eyes were bright, his skin was moist, and his mouth was slightly ajar, as if he had just finished saying her name. The pleasure that rocked through her was of Matthew's making and her heart sang out his name as she subsided into the afterglow of his touch._

Mary washed, dressed, and fixed her hair in a daze, still drunk on her shameful memories. She had been unable to sleep next to Richard that night and, after removing herself from his heavy, sleeping limbs, Mary spent a lonely and restless night on the couch. Her tears of frustration had been silent and she repeatedly questioned her character, her morals, and her values, but mostly, she questioned her future. It had been so clear months before, but now everything was clouded and confused.

She stood motionless in front of the vanity, staring deeply into the reflective glass. Makeup had hidden her red-rimmed eyes and irritated nose and her softly fashioned braid, hung lose and dark over her cream shoulder. Her fingers played with the edges of her white cotton sundress and she suddenly remembered that Richard loved this dress. She dropped the fringe as if it had burned her, and braced herself for another sweeping pang of guilt. She hated that she would have to face him tomorrow. Would he see that she was slowly falling out of love with him? Did he know of her delusions concerning her employer? Would he be able to tell that she had thought of Matthew while trembling in his embrace?

Truly, Rick was not to blame in this mess. Mary knew that Sybil and Edith would accuse him for anything that went wrong in their relationship, but, this time, Mary was the only one at fault. Richard might have flaws but he was always faithful and she knew that he loved her deeply. He was a constant; she was the one who was faltering.

Or perhaps, all Mary really needed was to distance herself from the thing, or rather the man, that was making her bend nearly to her breaking point.

She looked at herself in the mirror again, "Just get through until September, Mary."

Perhaps if she could make it through until September, when Quinn would start school and Mary would start her final year of studies, the lustful fantasies she harbored for her employer would subside. If Mary were completely honest with herself, most of her Matthew-centered desires were less than virtuous. She fantasized about him sexually but she hardly really knew him (their argument the other night had proven that). While he was always welcoming and flirtatious with her, his secrecy defined him best; he kept himself tucked away and hidden not only from his child, but from everyone around him. Mary would see much less of him come September and perhaps distance was all she needed to refocus her mind and her life.

Mary had firmly convinced herself of that truth as she walked out on to the warm patio. The sudden sounds of city traffic buzzed loudly in her ears and she took a deep breath of the humid air. The breeze smelled of flowers, fresh cut glass, coconut sun oil, ever-present car exhaust, and the distinct aroma of propane and cooking meat.

She felt his eyes on her from a distance and Mary was pleased with herself as she ignored the quiet yearning to turn towards him. She instead walked in the opposite direction towards Quinn who was drawing contently into a worn and yellowing coloring book.

"How are you darling?"

"I'm fine."

"Were you good for Anna and Ms. Hughes?"

"Yes. They let me help ice the cake. I wanted to use chocolate icing but Ms. Hughes said that it would be too much chocolate, so we used vanilla instead." The look of annoyance and indignation on the child's face made Mary laugh, "I didn't say anything, but I don't think she was right… There is no such thing as too much chocolate."

"I agree with you, though I'm glad you didn't disagree with Ms. Hughes."

"Anna let me lick the icing spoon too."

"Did she?" Just then Mary saw Anna walk out of the penthouse onto the patio; the woman's arms where weighed down by trays and dishes. Mary turned back to Quinn, "Are you alright here by yourself? I want to go help Anna with dinner."

"I'm ok."

Mary quickly walked towards the struggling woman and eased her load by taking from her the large plate of fresh cut fruit. Anna directed her towards the outdoor table, which was already covered with other sides and the women added their dishes to the spread.

"Thanks for that. I'm sure Elsie would have royally chewed by ass if I'd dropped anything."

Mary laughed, "Oh, I can't see sweet Ms. Hughes doing anything of the sort."

"Trust me. It would have been like I had spilt liquid gold."

"What about Matthew?" Mary internally chastised herself from bring him up again, but she couldn't let Ann be any wiser to her desires, "…Isn't it his food that would be ruined?"

"No, he'd be all right. He'd just laugh at me and then help me pick it up… He'd then probably take the blame in the attempt to save me from Elsie's wrath. He infuriates me to no end but he's a good guy."

Mary sighed breathlessly and attempted a half-heart laugh that sounded more pained than anything else, "I know."

She saw Anna look at her more deeply and watched as the woman's head tilted to the side questioningly.

Mary acted quickly, wanting to distract her, "Do you need help with anything else?"

However, Anna's questioning stare was not derailed. "No there was only the cake left and Ms. Hughes said she would bring it out in a few minutes." Anna's eyes squinted and her head was still inclined to the side as she stepped forward, trying get a better look at her in order to decipher Mary's loaded words.

Mary realized her attempts at distraction must be more drastic, "I've got a guy I want you to meet."

That did the trick; Anna lost all interest in anything else. Her eyes widened and her head snapped up straight, "Who is it?"

Mary spoke quickly, pleased that the ruse had worked, "He owns my favorite pub. It's a small place just off of campus but he runs a good business. He's a little older than us, but he works hard and is as loyal as they come…He's the type of person that I would considering calling first to bail me out of jail."

Anna laughed at her description of Bates, but Mary could tell that her new friend was interested.

Mary continued on by asking her, "When is your next night off?"

"Not until next Saturday."

"I'm off that night too. You should come by my place first and then we'll go to his pub for a few drinks and I'll introduce you. You'll be able to chat. It gets a little crazy past midnight but it's normally pretty tame until then."

Anna paused, considering for a moment, but soon a wide smile broke over her face, "Okay. Sounds like a plan."

She felt him enter the space behind her and Mary turned as Matthew placed a large plate of steaks and kabobs next to the smaller bowls of salsa and guacamole.

His eyes met hers for a moment before he looked at Anna as he spoke. "The meat is all done, Anna. Could you tell Elsie that we're all ready to eat?"

"Of course Mr. Crawley."

Anna was gone a second later and Mary had nothing to do but to look at him and try to engage him in pleasant conversation.

She placed a wide, innocent smile on her face, silently begging that they could pretended that what had passed between them earlier could be forgotten, "Good evening, Matthew."

His answering smile was shy, "Good evening, Mary."

Mary let out a small sigh of relief, "Have you had a pleasant holiday so far?"

"I have thank you. I had an excellent morning workout and the office was exceptionally quiet this afternoon, I was able to get a lot of things done." He paused momentarily before continuing, "I guess not many people choose to work on a national holiday."

He had said that last sentence with a short laugh, intending to poke fun at himself, but Mary caught the underlying sense of sadness in his tone.

Mary was unsure of what to say and offered him only a small smile in return.

Matthew continued on, "And how has your holiday been so far? I hope you and Quinn had a pleasant day?"

"We did thank you." They were being overly polite to one another, smiling widely and asking artificial questions, neither daring to delve too deep out of a shared fear of igniting what had burned brightly before.

"And what did you two do today?"

"We went for another swim." She saw his eyes darken with his remembrance of her fallen strap, but Mary pushed on, determined not to lose control, "Thanks again, for letting me know about the private pool. It's been wonderful for our purposes to have some privacy."

Matthew was well informed with what Mary was trying to accomplish with Quinn, and he had been more than willing to do anything to help, other than actually being there himself.

He shrugged his shoulders in an off-handed manner and Mary took a moment to appreciate his low-rise faded blue jeans, his well worn tennis shoes, and his thin v-neck t-shirt, precisely the color of his bright eyes, that was agonizingly thin, clearly displaying the lines of his shoulders and the planes of chest. His skin was darker than hers and his hair was slightly more ruffled than normal; it shone like spun gold in the bright light of setting sun. He looked young and carefree and mouthwatering.

His coy smirk was crooked and brilliant, "I'm glad I was able to help."

Just then Elsie and Anna returned and the five of them set about eating their prepared feast. Light chatter flew from the adults but Quinn remained silent. This didn't surprise Mary; the girl normally remained quite while in her father's presence. Mary had sat beside him throughout dinner and had counted the amount of times he had smiled and laughed: Six and three.

Quinn had gone back to her coloring after she had finished her dinner though not before she had whispered in Mary's ear to let her know when they were cutting the cake.

The bright sun finally set, casting the sky in a series of different shades of blue, and Mary wandered over to the western edge of the patio, leaning over the railing, watching the weaving trails of cars and lines of people that were make their way down to the lake in anticipation of the fireworks. She saw blurred outlines of several people pointing up at The Pearl in fascination and Mary waved back at them, feeling like a princess placed high up in a glass tower.

"I told you we'd have a fabulous view."

She started slightly at his approach but relaxed again upon seeing his warm smile as he moved to stand next to her.

"You were absolutely right." She breathed deeply, tasting the air, noticing that it now held the subtleness of his aroma. Mary turned back to the water, "It really is beautiful up here."

Matthew's eyes remained on her and he whispered breathlessly, "I adore everything about it."

She had not missed his words nor their double meaning and she turned back to him slowly. His eyes were bright and vulnerable and they held one another with their eyes for several tender moments. Matthew then looked down at his right hand before tentatively extending it towards her. Mary looked at his palm and was pleasantly pleased to discover the cocktail he offered.

He explained with a sheepish grin, "It's just an after dinner drink."

Mary took the tall highball glass from him, paying extra care not to touch his skin and she realized that he held a drink of his own in his left. Mary held the chilled drink out in front of her and she admired its distinct red, white, and blue layers and the smashed fruit and mint leaves that clung to the bottom.

"Festive." Mary said with a nod.

Matthew laughed again. _Four times,_ Mary thought. "Yeah it's a concoction of my own making: a patriotic mojito…I'm still waiting on the trademark."

Mary smiled and raised her glass to his. "What shall we toast?"

He paused considering, "How about," He mimicked her motions, "…to government holidays and the wonderful excuse to get hammered drunk with friends and family in honor of them."

Mary laughed easily and chimed her glass to his before slowly tasting his chilled creation.

She sighed in contentment and appreciation, "Oh, it's delicious." She took another large gulp before continuing, "And you created this? I'm very impressed."

He shrugged his shoulders bashfully and explained, "I took a bartending glass several years ago for fun. I think it's fun to play with alcohol and I used to mix different things up all the time. Sometimes my attempts were successful but most of the times they were utter failures… and nearly all of the times I ended up smashed." He laughed in spite of himself, slightly embarrassed but Mary hung to his every word. It was wonderful to hear him speak so openly about himself in any way.

Matthew continued, "So that's why I'm always trying to get you to have a drink with me; I just want to show off." He smiled at her shyly and Mary felt her heart glow brightly with giddy happiness at their light flirtation.

Her voice was slightly higher with excitement though she tried to remain calm, "I see… and all this time I thought you were only trying to get me drunk."

"Well," He paused and looked up at her with a devilish smile, "there was a bit of that involved."

His sudden switch from boyhood shyness to brazen confidence left Mary breathless and spinning, and she took another large gulp of her drink as her complexion turned scarlet.

He laughed and continued, and his deep, rich voice did nothing to help her forget her attraction to him, "But, I can't take all of the credit; I modeled this," he indicated his own drink, "off of a shot that I learned several years ago."

Mary turned back to him with sudden recognition. "Oh I know what shot you mean. I had some of those last year at a pub. Blue curacao for flavor, Everclear for the burn, and grenadine to make sure it goes down smoothly." Mary paused remembering and said with an embarrassed laugh, "Those things make your clothes come off."

Matthew's retort was quick, "Well, later I'll have to make us some."

Mary felt her heart stop and her blood boil instantly. Matthew held her in his smoldering stare for several moments and Mary felt his presence warm the skin between her breasts once more. She was struck by the yearning desire to reach out and touch him again, though she had no ending goal in mind. He looked gloriously happy and carefree and his eyes danced across her features.

Mary's eyes drank him in a moment longer before Matthew suddenly broke into a small fit of laughter. She was momentarily frozen but she quickly recovered to laugh along with him, grateful that the intensity of the moment had passed without any lines being crossed.

Eventually, his chuckles subsided and they both regained their composure. They turned and started to watch the people down below again and Mary noticed how the sky had darkened in the past minutes.

His deep voice broke through their shared silence once more, "I'm sorry that you had to be here over a holiday. I know that it was a weekend you were scheduled to be with Quinn, but I should have given you the time off… I'm sure you'd rather be spending it with your friends."

"Don't be sorry." Mary said honestly, "I had a wonderful day and tonight has been lovely."

"Well, I should have at least insisted that you invited your sisters."

"They probably still wouldn't have come. Sybil is taking her day off to catch up on school work and sleep, and Ed mentioned something about a date."

"And what about your…boyfriend?" She noticed how Matthew had struggled over the last word.

She felt another pang of guilt wash over her, "Rick is just at home. He's not much of a party person."

Matthew nodded in understanding, "Was that him the other night? …The man who stood outside of your apartment the night I dropped you off?"

"Yeah." She said it with a tone of finality, clearly signaling to Matthew that she didn't want to talk anymore about Richard.

He nodded again in understanding but spoke on, "I want to apologize again for the other night. I had acted really rudely and I'm desperately sorry."

"Don't be. You were merely defending yourself from my irrational anger. I should be the one begging for your forgiveness."

"Still, I hope you don't think poorly of me, or…any more poorly of me."

"I don't, Matthew…I don't."

He looked at her intently, "I love…" Mary's breath caught in her chest, "how vehemently you defend and care for Quinn."

"I…"

"You're an amazing woman."

"But…"

"You've been a God send…truly."

Mary heard his gracious compliments but her mind automatically started framing another argument on behalf of his child. She bit her tongue with forced effort, and tasted the familiar bitterness that reared up within her. They simply couldn't discus Quinn without Mary becoming irritated at him for the distance he kept. And now, there was the pitiful situation with Quinn's late mother, whom, because of Matthew's reserve and pride, the angelic child would also never know.

"Please Matthew." Mary held up her free hand to stop him, "Let's…not talk about it…not tonight at least."

Matthew nodded slowly and Mary saw his understanding despite the enclosing darkness of the night.

Anna approached then and stated that she and Ms. Hughes were ready to serve the dessert if they should like some. Mary left Matthew's side at the balcony, and made her way towards Quinn, who sat at one end of a love seat facing the lake and already had a half eaten slice of cake in front of her. Mary smiled at the chocolate that she had managed to smear across her face and rub into her dress.

"May I sit beside you, Quinn?"

Quinn finished chewing a rather large bite of fluffy cake before responding. "Yes you may."

Mary smiled fondly at the girl and sat herself beside her, smoothing her dress after her ascent.

Quinn looked at her, "Aren't you going to have some cake?"

"Not right now darling. I'm still too full from dinner."

The girl's eyes brightened, "Could I have your piece then?"

Mary laughed, "I think you've had enough for one night, don't you?"

The girl looked crestfallen, "I guess."

The sky was completely dark now and Mary wondered how much longer it would be until the fireworks started. She sat silently beside the child and watched as the girl consumed her sweets, all while trying to devise a plan so that Quinn wouldn't be afraid. Mary didn't want her to have a breakdown in front of Matthew, sure that the man would find some way to blame himself.

She found his lean silhouette in the darkness and Mary watched him as he watched the blackness of the night and the clearness of the star studded sky. Even from a distance, she could see that he was in deep contemplation and that his thoughts had turned his boyish good looks back into that of a haunted man. Why did he hurt himself so? What great secret did he keep? When would he see reason? Mary felt herself go weak under the weight of all of her unanswered questions concerning Matthew Crawley.

"Mary," Quinn's whispered, beckoning her attention back to the child beside her, "I'm ready to go inside now."

The child held her empty plate and fork in her hands and her eyes remained on her lap as she spoke, almost as if she were ashamed of letting Mary know of her fear.

Mary tried to play dumb, "But the fireworks haven't started yet, darling. You don't want to miss the show."

"I don't want to watch them."

"Why not?"

Quinn shrugged her tiny shoulders, "I just don't."

"But I think you'll like them… I know I always do." Quinn looked up at her last remark, and Mary thought that the girl had been convinced to stay upon hearing how she enjoyed them; she was aware of how the girl liked mimicking her actions. But the child's thoughtful face soon fell, her eyes returning to her small lap.

"Please. Don't make me watch them."

Just then a single thunderous clap broke through the night air, its resounding echo bouncing off the lake and the surrounding city buildings and lightly shaking the ground beneath her feet. However, a brilliant flash of light did not accompany the sound, and Mary realized that the single deafening bang had been only a signal, letting everyone know that the show was about to begin. The distant echo of applause floated up from the people below and Mary turned in her seat to gage the reaction of the child beside her.

Quinn let out a yelp of true terror and a moment later she was pulling herself onto Mary's lap, forming a tightly curled ball with her face buried in Mary's shoulder, and her small frame rocking with her silent sobs. Mary wrapped her arms around the child tightly and tried to hush her terrors. She enveloped the child with her body, curving her spine, bowing her head, and tightening her arms, protecting her from her fears. Mary started to slowly rock her, hoping the small movements would provide Quinn with some peace.

For some unknown reason, she looked up in search of Matthew and found that he was already watching them from the same position by the balcony. Despite the darkness of the night, Mary saw him for what he was— a ghost, a shell, a fallen man, a lonely prince. He looked lifeless; his skin waxy, his eyes dull. She searched out for his haunted gaze and found that, though he was looking in her direction, he had eyes only for his frightened child. He looked at Quinn in such a way that Mary felt as if she finally understood the all-consuming nature of his pain. He was stuck in the mud of his despair and he had no more energy left in him to fight against it, and he hated himself because of his weakness.

Matthew finally looked up at her, and for the first time, she was unmoved by his direct gaze. She rocked his restless child against her body and though Mary was still trapped in his eyes, she was numb to its normal affect. They continued to stare through one another but no great understanding passed between them; everything else in the world fell away into nothingness as the child they both loved became consumed by her fear.

Another powerful sob of terror shook through Quinn's body and Mary looked away from Matthew to whisper promises and assurances into the child's ear.

Mary had to fight against the tightness in her throat, "You'll be alright my love…You'll be alright…I promise to keep you safe…You'll be alright…I won't let anything happen to you."

But Quinn only sobbed harder.

Mary knew that nothing was worth having Quinn suffer so much, and as she prepared herself to stand and carry Quinn inside, she felt the space to her right become occupied by the warm presence of another. She looked up to see Matthew sitting only inches away from them, staring at the coiled child in Mary's arms.

Quinn cried on, unaware of her father, and Mary pressed her cheek into her soft curls, smothering her with affection, hoping that the girl would calm. Mary looked at Matthew again and she silently begged him to do something, anything, for his suffering child. She had called him a coward and a fool only four nights ago, and she longed for him to prove her wrong.

Matthew gazed at his child and Mary saw his internal struggle. He moved uncomfortably and his mouth fought to form the words held captive in his chest. It was painful to watch him struggle so awkwardly and, just as Mary was on the edge of providing him with some assurances of his own, Matthew sighed in defeat and slowly turned away from them to look out at the water. Her blood boiled with frustration and Mary felt the familiar since of disappointment in him rise hotly in her chest. Soon he would depart from her side, leaving his child to her misery, and Mary would have a front row ticket to his cowardice once more.

The night was cruel. It was hot, and dark, and silent but for the trembling child in her arms.

"Your mother loved fireworks."

She felt Quinn grow quiet at his spoken words.

"She loved them with a child-like pureness that was lovely and sweet."

He continued to look at the water, but Mary knew that he was far away. His voice was steady and deep and his words were saturated with his memories.

"One time she saw them from a distance and demanded that we drive until we found them. We never did, of course… but it was still one of the best nights of my life."

Mary watched him remember his wife, and she could have wept with the sincerity of his spoken words.

"I set them off for her at our wedding. She had said it was the best present I had ever given her." His stare was like glass and is smile was only a little sad.

"I loved to watch her watch them. She would sigh, gasp, and clap in all of the right places, and, through watching her, I realized how truly wonderful they were."

Quinn had come out from her hiding spot and was looking at her father without worry or reserve, hanging on his every word as he created her mother for her.

"The Fourth of July was one of her favorite holidays and I know that it was only because of the fireworks at night." He spoke quickly now, "Our first summer together we went out of the city so we could shoot off our own. We shot them off until the sun came up the next morning." He laughed, "I spent so much money, but it was worth every cent." He sighed deeply, "_She_ was worth every cent."

Mary felt deliriously happy and miserably sad in equal measure. Quinn was leaning towards her father, his words having entranced her so easily, and Mary could almost see how his spoken memories were slowly chipping away at the child's emotional barriers. But a bitter sadness had also consumed Mary upon listening to him speak; she had realized that she had never loved or been loved in the all-consuming way that Matthew had loved his wife. She yearned to understand what a fraction of that type of love would feel like; surely it would crack stone, defy gravity, and overthrow empires. Mary felt her heart slowly crumble in her chest before falling haphazardly somewhere deep inside her.

"She once told me that the first time she ever saw them as a child, she thought that the sky was ripping open, reveling the heavens behind them."

His were wide and his mouth continued to softy spill out his memories.

"Sometimes, when I see them, I still imagine that's exactly what's happening."

Matthew then turned from the water to look at his daughter and Quinn looked back at him with devotion and awe. He smiled at his daughter and Mary saw his reserve falter as his bottom lip trembled and his brilliant eyes became moist. He looked at Quinn with such adoration and love that it seemed to Mary, that Matthew was truly seeing his daughter for the first time.

"And, when your mother told me she was pregnant with you…I went out and bought her fireworks."

Mary was breathless as the first fireworks of the night began to light up the dark sky, painting the city she loved, the child on her lap, and the beautiful man beside her, in different shades of yellow, blue, red, purple, green, and orange.

She felt Quinn flinch from fear as the barrage of sparking flames lit up the night sky, their glow bright and their sonic booms rattling the earth. Mary tightened her grip around the girl, preparing to run at the first sign of her tears. Quinn twitched and blinked out from the hallow of Mary's long neck, and Mary was sure that the girl's terrors would return to her at any moment. But as the minutes slowly passed and the echoing thunder of the show continued to crack loudly through the air, Quinn's hysterics did not return. She felt the child slowly unwind and calm, bit by bit, and Mary watched the girl gaze with wonder at the bright sky, the brightness of the colorful explosions dancing off the child's wide eyes.

A particularly large explosion ripped through the night sky, casting their world in a blindly bright orange glow, and for the first time since Mary had walked through the doors of The Pearl two months ago and had her laid eyes upon the child whom she would grow to effortlessly love, Mary saw the girl smile. At first, Mary doubted her eyes and she blinked through the continuous assault of light that rained down from the heavens, sure that the delusion of the child's radiant smile would fade; nevertheless, no matter how many times she tried to clear her eyes, the breathtaking image of the happy girl remained. Mary felt her shattered heart reform instantly and then beat harder and faster than it had ever done before. The brightness of the night sky paled in comparison to the effervescent glow of Quinn's dimpled and bright-eyed smile.

Mary gasped and looked in disbelief and wonder to the only other person in the world that would understand the magnificent miracle that was the resurgence of the girl's long lost smile. Mary turned towards the girl's father and saw a man gazing at his only child, drunk with happiness; Matthew's brilliant smile matched his daughter's flawlessly and Mary gasped again at the image before her.

She didn't know how long she had been gazing at him, but eventually Matthew lifted his dazzling eyes to hers, and they shared a smile that burned just as brightly as the starry canvas above them. Her pounding heart felt light, and her mind swam with the intensity of his smile. Mary could not recall the last time she had felt so deliriously happy. She would remember this moment, this singular perfect moment in time, when the world stopped and the heavens caught fire, for as long as she roamed the earth.

However, her own bliss paled in comparison to that of the man beside her. His eyes were wet from his happiness and he shook slightly with his elation, relieved laughter spilling from him, his body unable to encapsulate his hysterical joy. He looked cleansed; his well-worn soul washed out and hung anew.

Mary didn't know who reached out for the other first, but she soon felt the warmth of him wrap around the delicate bones of her right hand. Their hands had meet in the middle of the small space between them, grasping and interlocking, holding and supporting the other as tightly as a lifeline. Their fingers brushed and twined together seamlessly, like two strands of the same thread, and Mary lost track in the darkness of which of the flesh colored digits were her own. She misplaced herself in his depths of his eyes, and while touching his skin, she could feel the strong current of his happiness radiate throughout his body, lighting up his limbs and charging his heart. He held her so tightly and so completely that Mary forgot herself— his essence fusing with her soul and making something brand new.

The colorful chemical flames continued to ignite the dark city sky and Matthew's smile slowly faded. His happiness was replaced by his wonder as he gazed upon the spot where her white flesh met his own warm skin. She too was in awe to discover how perfectly the two different pieces of their bodies had molded so seamlessly together. Their hands continuously moved together in the darkness, touching and discovering the other; she studied the lines of his palm, he caressed the gaps between her fingers, and they both traced the ridges of the others fingertips. Mary felt him everywhere, his warm hand acting like a glowing beacon for her lost body. His touched traveled up her arm, penetrating her flesh and infecting her blood, changing her bones and firing her muscles. He moved through her shoulder and ate away at her ribs, filling her lungs, and finding her heart, which he then wrapped tightly around, constricting it's flow and making it burn.

They held safe to one another for as long as they possibly could and once the moment came for them to let go and face the world without the other, they silently decided to hold on to each other for a single moment longer.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello all and thanks for sticking with me. I've realized throughout the process of writing this chapter (and the three previous chapters) that I am simply not able to "update quickly." I can't do it. I don't have enough faith in my own writing to publish it without it sitting in my mind, and my computer, for an indefinite amount of time. I want to make this story as great as I possibly can, and I'm simply not talented enough to do it quickly. I've had the first fourth of this chapter written for nearly a month but I would never want to post it without having the "right" ending, and the "right" ending only came to me (at two in the morning, of course!) five nights ago. I would say, on average, I rewrite any given sentences at least three times, so that takes a lot of time and effort. I hope I don't sound ungrateful because I have truly been humbled by all of your positive responses. I LOVE hearing that you are eager for the next chapter (What writer wouldn't want to hear that?) I just hope that you aren't getting aggravated with me when it takes this long. I could probably update this story weekly if I weren't so stubborn with where the chapter ends. In fact, I could have broken this chapter into four or five parts but I wanted to give it to you all as a whole because I think that it's the best way to read it. **

**OK, now this next part is my sad attempt to put into words my immense gratitude to Tumblin' Downton, aka SaraPellow, for doing a fabulous beta read for me. This chapter would have been a train wreck without her, so…thank you **

**Now enough of my rambling…You're all beautiful and I'm so thankful that you are reading my pathetic attempt to entertain and enthrall you…NOW GO READ THE CHAPTER! :)**

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Matthew's right hand was shaking.

Violent tremors raced through his nervous system making his vision blur and his brow moisten. He took several shaking breaths in an attempt to calm himself but still the nerves in his right hand continued to fire on, rattling his bones and disrupting his intentions.

His trembling grip on the golden fountain pen was vice like and he watched as his knuckles turned from red to pink, from pink to cream, and from cream to white. The pen, normally so cool and light, had taken on the blistering heat from his body. It was heavy in his grasp and it felt as if it embodied the troubles of a thousand men as Matthew held its tip tightly between his thumb and forefinger. The pen was in a state of suspension, hovering and shaking inches above the small book, betraying his quickly slipping composure.

He let out a single hysterical laugh and felt his facial muscles work tightly through the simple action. Matthew stood beside his desk, his knees locked and his feet firm, resting the weight of his body on his left hand as he bent over the small black notebook. It was fairly new, bought only five weeks ago in the early morning hours, but its strong binding, cool and lightly textured, and its thick, smooth papers now felt like his oldest and dearest friend.

He had taken to carrying the book with him always, tucked inside his suit jacket, placed deep inside the cotton pockets of his pajamas, or rested by his bedside table, but never far from reach should the need to fill it present itself, snatching him from his normal life. In moments of deep thought, Matthew would now find himself resting his palm against its cool surface or tracing the outline of its strong spine over and over, as if the straight line would eventually change, leaving him with a new path to discover. When sleep eluded him, he would open the book in the blackness of the night, and run his fingertips across the pressed and scratched surface, reading his own recent past like braille, not knowing which exact words he traced, but his mind recalling perfectly the newly scattered memories that inspired them.

Bright sunlight filled Matthew's office and his bent body cast a long and dark shadow over its wooden floors. After several moments, he gave up on trying to calm his shaking extremity and instead concentrated only on lowering his alien limb to the right upper corner of the creamy paper. His curved palm found its target and he lowered the pen's arrow-headed tip to the clean page, eager to dirty the surface with the thrilling moment he had experienced just moments ago; before he had come to stand by his desk, before he had entered his office in a breathless state of bliss, before he had reluctantly left her side, before he had smiled in darkness at her unseen laugh, but after he had stumbled upon his daughter, bent low in a darkened corner, her hands pressed over her round face concealing her eyes, slowly counting up to an unknown number.

Matthew's shaking hand moved over the paper and his initial sloppy marks slowly evened out into something that was clear. The simple action of putting pen to paper had calmed him, and the comforting escape of the rich black ink across the pure paper crept up into his fingers and spread to his clammy palm and to his strained wrist, before continuing further north and rapturously spreading through his system. In fact, as soon as Matthew realized his right hand no longer trembled, the fever that had enveloped him moments ago had completely passed, and he sighed with his sudden deliverance.

He stopped after only writing the current date, and stood straight to critique the scribbled word and numbers.

_August 10, 2012_

The written month was barely legible but the year was clear and smooth.

He bent again over the book and continued, pleased that his hand remained steady, while he wrote a short description of what had transpired minutes ago in darkness of his hall closet.

The task only took a couple minutes and the finished product was composed only of a few paragraphs that were made up of broken sentences. Matthew's description was short and clipped, leaving much to be desired and not scratching the surface of the deep emotions that had rained down upon him, leaving him saturated and glowing, but the simple act of transcribing it, of pressing the memory out of his body and through the tip of the golden pen, its black ink darker than the darkest night, made the brief event with her more real and, most essentially, forever permanent.

Matthew read over his words twice, and once he was satisfied with them, he picked up the small book and held it to his chest as he walked around his desk before collapsing into his chair. He turned in his chair to gaze at the city that stood as the backdrop of his existence, and still, he continued to hold the book to his chest, clasped lightly but surely in both of his hands. His hands glued his written memories to his breast and Matthew felt the life that dwelt within the book's pages warm his beating heart. His lids slowly fell and he felt the humming vibrations of the book's words against his skin, their rhythm and prose rattling his existence back to him, continuously repeating the moments of his recent past when he had awoken and found that he was, despite his haunted spirit, still alive.

Alive…

The book contained the proof of his vitality, drawn from beautiful experiences hidden within everyday circumstances.

Matthew filled the book's blank pages with the descriptions of moments, large and small, when he was reminded that he was alive. He wrote about the moments that left him breathless, moments that left him speechless, moments that made him laugh from within his soul, moments that tingled his spine and burned his lungs, moments so bright they eclipsed the heavy darkness in his eyes, blinding him but letting him see things he hadn't witnessed in years. He had taken to spilling his soul onto four-by-six inch pages of off-white paper and, in doing so, he tried to describe the events when he physically felt his life flowing throughout his system, warming his skin and reminding his heart to beat and his blood to flow. The book kept those memories safe and acted as undeniable proof that Matthew could still feel something other than despair. The book was a witness to his own happiness and would always be there to remind him that all was not lost.

His psychologist had suggested that he pick up the practice of writing down simple moments of happiness over a year ago, but when the concept was initially suggested to Matthew, the idea of ever experiencing anything other than complete numbness, which was only temporarily interrupted with shocks of pain or misery, seemed like an impossibility. The idea of ever feeling anything other than some degree of despair had never crossed his mind. He would remain a shell of a man whose only companion would be fear cloaked in torment, and Matthew believed this to be his only future and that was the absolute truth…until several months ago.

Until her presence changed everything; until a normal day in the middle of May when she had entered into his life and shook the solid foundation of pain beneath his trembling feet, causing the base of his misery to begin to crack and falter.

Matthew slept better than he had in years on the night of the Fourth of the July. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he remembered the sight of his daughter's smile and the warmth of Mary's small hand in his own as he woke to the purple sky early the next morning. The happiness that the woman had sowed within him remained and he longed to keep the embers of her presence alight in his soul. Matthew knew that memories were fleeting and faulty and the desire to hold onto the wonderful feeling of having his daughter's rapt attention, the peace that came to him when he spoke freely of Lavina, and the savage pleasure of having Mary's fingers curled around his own, ate away at his insides. He would never recover from losing those sensations and knew that he must make the earth shifting events that had occurred last night a part of a permanent written history. He dressed with urgency in the shadows of the early morning and escaped into the halls of his silent home, and out of the glass walls of The Pearl, and into the slowly waking city streets. Matthew knew his destination and had the object of his journey, a small empty notebook, within his grasp before the sun fully rose. He returned to his home and escaped into his office and set about filling the first pages only minutes before the rest of his household woke for the day. Sometime later he emerged from within his office, and found his home echoing with the voices of those that had inspired the words written in the small book that he now carried deep within his pocket. The man felt light but the book felt heavy with his happiness.

Back in his office, Matthew opened his eyes to the city skyline and he slowly removed the book from his chest only to have his figures turned back the cover, revealing his first entry. [Not sure about this sentence. Is this what you meant? Back in his office, Matthew opened his eyes to the city skyline as he slowly removed the book from his chest, his fingers turning back the cover to reveal his first entry.

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_July 5, 2012_

_I've been lost for a long time._

_I've been lost but I found myself last night while spilling bits of myself out to my daughter. Yes, I spoke to my daughter about her mother, but to speak of her mother is to speak of me. _

_Perhaps there is another way? Perhaps I do not have to keep my distance from my daughter? Perhaps she could forgive me, and perhaps I could forgive myself for the sins of my past?...Perhaps._

_My soul awoke last night…I awoke and stretched to the wonderful memories of my past, the sight of my daughter's smile, and the warmth of __**her**__ touch…She's so alive._

_I want to live as she lives, fully and without hesitation. I have felt the life that radiates through her being only from a distance, and for so long I have desired a closer look. I felt her life last night. I grabbed out for her in the darkness, wanting only to test the solidness of her, only to confirm that my daughter's smile was not a figment of my imagination, and I was pleased to find that she sot me out as well. She was the one to entwine our fingers, locking me to her, and I'm so grateful for the simple action—I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to her. She held me tight. I held her tight. We held on to each other, simply but urgently._

_I couldn't identify the feeling for a long time, but later that night, hours after I had reluctantly let go of her so that she could carry my sleeping daughter to bed, I realize that the swelling of my chest and the dragging of my stomach was the physical impression of my own happiness._

_Happiness…I had forgotten you. _

_Happiness…I will now chase you, capture you, and bask in the glow of you._

The world had seemed rosy and the possibilities endless that beautiful morning, and Matthew rode his spiritual high of the night of the Fourth deep into the morning. He discovered his child in the kitchen, sleepily bent over a bowl and softly chewing soggy cold cereal, and he greeted her warmly. He wanted nothing more than to pick her up and hold her tight, to smell her skin and touch her hair, to feel her breath fill her small chest, and to start catching up on the life she had been living in his absence.

His daughter looked up at his greeting and the coldness that fell from her icy eyes sucked all of the happiness from him. The look she gave him stopped him in his tracks, and he felt his familiar depression snap back around him, as if it were always hovering somewhere very near, waiting for reality to dawn on him. He forgot the small black book he carried in his pocket and the wonderful events that had inspired them. At looking at the hate in his child's eyes, his mind began replaying his worst memories back to him—he remembered his wife's final broken moments, relived the day of her funeral, saw the second name that should be on her tombstone, watched, in broken pieces, his daughter cave in on herself with his distance, felt his mother's cold hand in his as she left the world, and heard Mary's deep echoing voice call him out on all of his sins.

The familiar haunting look that his daughter gave him drove the air from his lungs and it was as if last night had never happened. Her bright eyes were cold and she looked at him as if he was a stranger, and it was as if nothing had changed. But, then again, nothing really had changed. He was still a stranger to his daughter, and she was still a mystery to him. Did he expect to have all of his wrongs undone in only one evening?

He felt his grief settle back around him, uncomfortable but familiar, just in time to look up and see the woman who stood slightly to his child's right. Her hair was up and disheveled, her shirt was the color of blackberry wine, and her sleep-rimmed eyes were wide with undisguised alarm. She held him in her eyes and a bright blue mug in her hands, and Matthew saw how perfectly she read him. Mary knew how high his hopes had been only moments before and how those hopes had suddenly gone up in hot, violent flames. She moved towards him with the smallest adjustment, leaning forward as if she were physically unable to remain still, and silently urged him, using only her dark eyes, to cling to the joy and hopefulness that had warmed him moments before. She encouraged him wordlessly from the short distance, but the woman didn't know that her pleads were pointless, for Matthew had already gone cold; the delicate tendrils of his happiness had slipped through his trembling hands the moment his daughter's cool blue eyes fell upon his. He felt the hopelessness in his eyes finally sink into the woman's white flesh, and Matthew saw her reach out to him one more time as she slowly shook her head and her soft, red lips silently said 'no' before he turned and left the room.

He cursed the black notebook that was now the only memory of his stolen happiness. He wanted to destroy it, to send its pages up in red flames and erase the evening of the Fourth from his memory because it had made him forget his reasons for being closed off. He had forgotten why he had been so distant from his daughter, but her cold look the next morning served as a blinding reminder. He had always been so terrified to even attempt to open up to his child and now he discovered that those fears were well founded.

Matthew knew that he could handle Quinn hating him for his aversion, it was tangible, exact, something that could be pointed at and blamed, but should he try to have a relationship with her, should he try to be the father to her that she deserved, should she adore him and love him, and only later to find out the truth of his past and then hate him for the same reasons he hated himself, that, Matthew could not bear. Once she found out the truth of her mother's death and the truth of the other one, the one that Matthew even hid from himself, his mind graciously throwing up every roadblock against it so that it was only stirred up in his very darkest moments, Quinn would truly hate him. Quinn would soon know the truth of her mother's death, one day she would ask and he would not keep it from her, and Matthew would rather have her already hate him than have to endure losing her love. He couldn't cope with having her love and affection one day and then losing it the next; better for her to hate him always.

He knew his daughter was stronger than he was. Her adolescent years would be rough, but what he had witnessed in recent months made him believe that she wasn't so damaged that she couldn't live a normal healthy life. He had recently seen that she could form strong relationships was able to open up and she would do that with others, but not with him. He knew his motives were selfish and his actions were cowardice, but their result was something that he could cope with; it was something that would allow him to still get out of bed in the morning and continue pretending to live.

The next several days that followed had been the darkest that Matthew had endured in months. His brief hours of happiness now made his existence all the more hollow; he felt as if he finally understood what it was to be happy again, but now he knew that he never would be. Those bright hours mocked him ceaselessly, sharp and bitter, and they made his ever-present nightmares worse. He banished the black notebook to a shadowed corner and hoped that his distance would eventually turn it to dust. Sleep became even more elusive than ever and he hid himself from his daughter and her caretaker completely. Twice he took bottles of scotch to bed, hoping to drown out the sounds of crunching metal and broken glass, the smell of the sickness, and feel of his daughter's dead eyes on him. He was constantly reminded of all that he had done and not done, and he wept silently, night after endless night, into the warm cup of his shaking hands.

His saving grace came in the form of a knock.

It had been five days since the night of the Fourth and his seclusion had been so encompassing that he had only seen his daughter and her caretaker from a distance and he had not spoken one word to either of them.

Matthew had to come home in the early afternoon to retrieve some documents that he had left there in his sleep-deprived state. He could have sent an courier but he needed some fresh air and was sure that the deafening sounds of the city would drown out the screaming demons in his head. The afternoon was hot and beautiful and Matthew knew that Mary and Quinn were normally out of the penthouse at this time of day, so he was very surprised to hear the soft but insistent knock on his office door only after being home for a few minutes. He knew that it wasn't Elsie or Anna because they normally took their lunch at this time, and so he was only left with one option.

He momentarily considered remaining silent, hoping she would go away, but he knew her. He knew he couldn't hide from her when she was determined and, even despite his silence, she would eventually see herself in. He sighed and accepted defeat.

"Come in." His voice was weak with its lack of use and Matthew momentarily wondered when the last time was that he spoke aloud.

She entered into his office and Matthew felt his knees go week. Her long, dark hair was down and soft and she wore a burgundy top that clung tight to her every curve. Matthew looked up into her eyes reflexively, his nerves and muscles automatically pulling in the direction of her beautiful face, knowing the relief that would come. He found a home in the darkness of her stare and already the world seemed slightly less bleak.

"You've been avoiding us."

Her words were neither accusatory nor angry. She said them as a statement of fact and nothing more, but Matthew was still shamed by them.

She continued to tenderly hold him with her eyes and Matthew felt his composure start to slip. He was stressed, tired, and desperately lonely and he hovered shakily on the edge of breaking down and confessing everything to her, or crossing the room and pressing her to him, knowing that the heat of her body would warm his frozen soul.

However, he found another avenue of escape and reluctantly let his eyes vacate hers and land on the papers in front of him.

"I've been busy." The false words were soft with his defeat and they sounded untrue even to his own ears. Matthew knew that she would see through them.

"Don't do that, Matthew." Her strong voice walked the line between disappointment and pleading, and he knew that she would fight for him against himself. There was a beat of heavy silence before he heard her take several steps forward. He saw the outline of her dark shadow on the floor in front of him before she spoke again, "Please…please, don't do that."

He remained silent and she continued, "We haven't seen you at all in five days. I know…" She sighed and Matthew knew that she had looked away from him in an attempt to control her disappointment, "…that you remain at a distance for your own reasons, but it's never been like this before."

Another beat of uncomfortable silence filled the small space between them before she continued on, undeterred by his muteness. Her voice remained calm, and she spoke to him in a simple way, almost as if the grand room was empty and she was speaking only to the air.

"I just don't understand it, really. Five nights ago, we all have this beautiful evening together, and you reached out to your daughter and she responded so well to you, and I thought perhaps we had…" he saw, out of the corner of his eye, her hands fight through the air as she temporarily struggled and searched for words. Eventually her lips found their mark, "reached a turning point and that your relationship with her would turn over a new leaf, and that maybe things were going to get better, but then you just…disappeared again." He heard her hands slap her sides with her shrug of frustrated confusion, "I don't understand."

Silence again. The sound of her breathing tied him to the spinning earth. The feel of her eyes was the only sensation that mattered.

"Please say something Matthew."

He couldn't deny her request. "It was a mistake to speak to her so openly."

He heard her soft, wet mouth fall open with her shock and the feel of her stunned eyes grew heavier on his bones. Eventually, she recovered and Matthew felt the air lightly move with her whispered response, "How can you say that?...We saw her smile. You made her smile." She was pleading with him, begging him to see reason.

He finally looked at her again and was surprised to see how close they stood in his sunlit office. Rays of sunlight hit the curves of her face, making her fair skin turn an angelic shade of white. She looked delicately breakable, and heartbreakingly lovely.

He echoed her pleading tone, "She mustn't get close to me…I mustn't get close to her."

"Why?" She asked imploringly, her voice cracking with stress.

His grief and weariness defeated him and he sounded lost. "You know why."

His words hung in the frozen air and Matthew was mesmerized by the specks of white light that endlessly danced in the depths of her eyes. A flash of gold glistened bright against her bare neck, and he saw interlocking chains of sunlight fall somewhere unknown between the dark shadows of her breasts. The sight of her necklace corrupted him and her enticing chest rose and fell four times before she responded in a subdued manner.

"Yes…I do."

Her response was slow and Matthew remained grateful that they had not lost their tempers while discussing this most delicate subject.

He turned into hot liquid under her dark eyes and he watched with a mingled appreciation as Mary drank him in. She was all four seasons rolled into one; her red lips were the hot summer sun, her dark locks were crisp fall midnights, her skin was an endless winter blanket, and every dip, curve, line, and point of her sculpted and blooming body was the reincarnation of spring. She stood before him as lovely and as binding as the spinning earth beneath his feet, and Matthew suddenly remembered how he had always loved the change of seasons.

It was unsafe to be trapped in her eyes but he was paralyzed to do anything against them. Her gazed moved quickly between his own wide eyes and his slightly gaping mouth and then back again, only lightly brushing against anything else in her pursuit to undo him where he stood. She looked hungry and spent.

Mary sighed heavily and slowly turned away from him, her head angling towards the floor with forced effort but her eyes remaining fixed steadily upon his until the last possible moment. She looked pained and Matthew saw how much effort it took for her to complete the simple motion of dragging her gaze from his own.

His breath caught in his chest.

He knew the look she wore as she tore herself from him.

It was a look of desire. It was a look of longing. It was a look of wanting and needing, of floating and sinking, of hunger and satisfaction, of confusion and clarity all blended together into something enslaving and freeing. Matthew recognized that look. He understood that look. He lived that look day after day, and, most importantly, he knew the thoughts behind them better than most. The look in her struggling and battling eyes matched up perfectly with the erratic beating in his chest.

Clarity came to him as her red lips parted and gave way to a single shaking breath, and Matthew suddenly felt something inside of him rip away. Deafness came to him and his vision suddenly tunneled, everything else in the world fading away except for the outline of her. He fought against the bubbling in his stomach, the warming of his chest, and the rising hope in his spinning mind.

Could it be?...

Matthew fought against the impossible thought but, once it was implanted, it would not budge.

Did she?...

Their flirtation had reached a level that could be described as rampant, but did it end there for her or was she, like him, constantly longing for something more? Were her words and actions lighthearted or did they come from her, as they did from him, drenched in second meanings and poorly hidden yearnings?

Mary spoke again, her pained eyes remained on her feet, and Matthew was brought back to their current state. The pattern of her voice was a coolly whispered breeze, "Well, at least I know what you've told me in the past. You think you're a lost soul. You think you're a damned soul that can only cause damage and pain."

He felt the hand of God reach out and slap him across the face.

She did not believe the words she spoke but they were still saturated in the truth. The movement of her perfect mouth brought with it a painful reality and Matthew's newly found joy and astonishment battled against his now rising fear. His fear was great and terrible but he did not harbor it for himself.

His triumphant fear was only for her and his heart broke for Mary; he was no good for her, or for anyone, and she must be warned against him. Matthew's realization carried with it a physical pain and he broke under the understanding of what he must now do.

Matthew gazed upon her sadly, as if she were the last ray of sunlight he would ever see. His lips muddled through his fear and his broken words held a double meaning; one for his daughter and one for her.

"Getting close to me will only lead to disappointment."

The warning cost him greatly and he felt his heart lurch in his tight chest, as his body physically rejected his uttered words. His weary legs felt like jelly and the painful truth tasted bitter on his tongue, especially since every ounce of his being wanted her, and only her, in an all-consuming, completely engrossing, absolute kind of way. He wanted her beside him in the dead of night and all of the hours in between.

Mary's eyes snapped back to his quickly and Matthew read her disbelief and her shock, and knew that his statement had injured her.

"I don't believe that." Her voice betrayed her hurt.

He wanted to take back his words and promise never to say them again, but he bit back his apology and pressed on, determined to get his warning across.

"Loving me will only lead to heartache."

"That's not true." He saw the gleam of moisture in her eyes and felt her rising temper.

"It is."

"It isn't."

He adored and loathed her stubbornness. Her stare was accusatory and Matthew felt burdened beneath it.

Her look held more than disappointment but Matthew couldn't put a finger on what it exactly was before Mary spoke again, redirecting the conversation back to where it had begun, "Your daughter needs your love."

It was Matthew's turn to sigh and his hand reached up to rub his brow, hoping to relieve the screaming tension in his head.

"You're wrong, Mary… If Quinn loved me, like she might if I was an affectionate and attentive parent, my deception and her demise will be all the more devastating because of it."

"But…"

"Once she finds out the truth of her mother's death, she'll hate me. So isn't it better that she always hate me, than to love me and then be forever burned by my betrayal?"

Mary blinked rapidly but she had no response.

Matthew continued on, "I can handle her anger; I could not live with losing her love."

"Why is everything so black and white for you, Matthew? Do you think she's only capable of the two emotions?"

Her temper was breaking through despite her best efforts and he matched his rising tone to hers.

"This is the way that it must be."

"Why could she not forgive you?"

"That's…impossible."

"May I show you something?"

He was taken aback by her surprising and unforeseen request, and the room was filled only with the sound of their labored and shared breathing.

"What?" Matthew asked her after several moments.

"May I show you something?" She repeated again simply.

His confusion had stunned him and before he realized what was going on he had agreed and was following her out of his office and down the shadow filled hall, passing the guest bedroom door and then his own, before entering into the brightness of Quinn's room.

* * *

Back in his office on the 10th of August, Matthew's index finger and thumb flipped over the first page of the black notebook, revealing a pink construction paper that had been folded several times and placed inside of the book for safe keeping.

It _must_ be kept safe.

The pink page slid out of the book and landed softly in his lap, leaving visible his second entry. The date was five days after the first and he remembered the day well.

* * *

He had followed Mary into his child's room and was pleased to find, for his own cowardly reasons, that Quinn was no where to be found. He asked Mary where she was and she had responded by saying that Quinn had fallen asleep watching some afternoon cartoons in the family room. She led him deep into the room, past his daughter's bed and playhouse, and came to a stop near her coloring desk and play area by the eastern glass wall. Mary stood with her arms crossed and Matthew had shoved his clammy hands into his pockets. They stood apart from one another, neither voicing their reasons for the distance, but both understanding the necessity of it. The tension was palpable. Matthew could feel it buzzing around his head and gluing him to the floor. She fidgeted with her own discomfort and sought solace in the rhythmic tapping of her right foot, which was shoeless and sockless, revealing scarlet colored nails.

He counted her tapping, and by the time he reached 22, Matthew's anxiety got the better of him and his nearly shouted question shattered the dense silence in the bright room. He asked her why she had brought him here and, judging by the hard look in her eye, Mary had not appreciated his sharp tone. He regretted his irritation and after he had apologized and Mary had let enough uncomfortable time pass by to make him feel like a scolded puppy, she responded by telling him to take a look around the room.

He found that he was, once again, irritated with her vagueness, but, eventually, Matthew let his eyes slowly drag around the room that they occupied. He looked at nothing in particular as he slowly twirled counter-clockwise, his eyes searching for something out of the ordinary. His gaze brushed over Mary, who looked at him with undisguised anticipation, Quinn's small library, her large playhouse, her bed, an assortment of toys and clothes, her drawing table, her colorful creations pinned everywhere to the southern wall, and then back to Mary.

It wasn't until his third pass over the room that Matthew finally found what Mary had wanted him to discover.

They were hidden in plain sight. They were ten feet to his right, pinned at different angles, on bright pieces of paper, behind her drawing table and tacked to the southern wall. Matthew moved towards the papers in a wide-eyed trance. There were over 30 of them and nearly all of the papers held creations made of a multitude of brightly colored lines. Her small hands had created thousands of lines and they each were shaky and broken, and drawn in an unorganized fashion around a point, or a dot, of light. The lines bloomed out from their separate center points, going randomly in every direction from each exploding center. Quinn's hand had drawn the fireworks in nearly every shade of the rainbow, and Matthew's first though was that he wanted to create more colors just so that his daughter could put them down on paper. He felt his eyes jump from brightly colored page to brightly colored page, eager to see all of them, but not really looking at one in particular.

He reached out and touched one of her drawings at random and, as his fingers felt the pressure that his child had spent to create the single green line, the air suddenly thinned and Matthew's breathing became even more labored.

His heart and his head went to war with one another.

She allowed him several moments before she approached. She had entered the space to his left and he had been unable to meet her eyes while his own were filling with the liquid expression of his exhaustion, frustration, and confusion. Mary's lungs were steady, her breathing even and easy, and Matthew was grateful that she spared him additional suffering by not directing her crippling gaze upon him. Just like his own glassy stare, the full weight of Mary's eyes were on Quinn's creations. However, while Matthew had looked upon the drawings with a multitude of different, warring emotions, Mary had gazed at them simply and it was obvious that the papers only made her happy.

She too reached out and lightly touched the center of a drawing several pages over from the one his fingertips were glued to.

She suddenly laughed softly and he heard the smile on her lips as she spoke, "She's been stuck on fireworks for a while now."

He had to close his eyes at her words, and if Mary had seen the tears that fell down his face, she was kind enough not to bring attention to them, "She's been fascinated with them for about five days…ever since you told her about her mother's love of them."

His touch on the paper was the only thing that was keeping him upright.

Mary laughed again, "You should watch her draw them. Such concentration. Such care." He focused on the sound of her lungs. "Every time she finishes one, she holds it out in front of her, and gazes at it with so much joy and adoration that you would think it was a priceless work of art…but then again, I guess they all are."

He almost told her to stop but he needed her to continue.

"She spends almost as much time drawing them as she does staring at them. I watch her gaze at the collection of them, her eyes jumping from one to the next and then taking in the group as a whole…She never says anything but the smile she wears says it all. She's thinking of five nights ago…and imagining the woman you described for her."

Silence filled the room and Matthew heard how loud he was breathing, his lungs attempting to suppress the erratic beating of his heart. Eventually, he felt Mary move and shortly after, Matthew heard the soft scratching of a paper being rustled free from a wall. He opened his eyes in time to see Mary pull the pin out of one drawing and grasp it out in front of her with both of her hands, the image facing away from him. Her eyes traveled across the page and her smile grew wider and Matthew felt his spirits rise slightly despite himself, the chemicals in his body unable to resist the sight of her full body smile.

Her voice was comfort and peace, "She drew this one this morning. You should have seen how she smiled when she finished it; I think it might have rivaled the one we saw together...Anyway, I asked her if I could have it and she said yes, but now I…" Mary looked up at him and didn't falter in seeing how plainly he wore his emotions, "…wanted to give it to you."

She took a final look at the drawing, as if she were memorizing it to be recreated later, before handing him the pink paper.

He didn't remember exactly what crossed his mind when first seeing the image his child had drawn only hours ago, but he did remember seeing it through the blurry lens of his tears. Mary had let him grieve, emotions running unchecked throughout his mind and body, and eventually Matthew managed to smile and laugh through the hard lump in his chest where his heart used to be.

His eyes rained down on the page, turning it to liquid, and Matthew wanted only to ingest the image so that it would forever be a part of him.

The top of the pink page held the now familiar design of Quinn's hand-made fireworks, exploding through the page in a multitude of colors, but it was the image in the middle that stole his breath away. Matthew had looked upon it and realized in an instant that his attempts to erase the night of the Forth from his memory had been a complete failure. Matthew had never been so pleased to fail.

Underneath the two-dimensional exploding sky, there were three figures, one smaller than the others. Their bodies, drawn in black, greasy crayon, where made of sticks and circles. The smaller one had orange swirls sprouting from the top of her head and she was arranged in the lap of one of the larger ones. This one's long, plank like hair was raven, just like the rest of her body, and she sat, on a royal blue line, very near the third figure. The third also sat on the blue bench, and he had a yellow scribble on his head, right above his blue dotted eyes. Matthew's eyes were caught on the crescent-shaped moons that hung sideways on all three faces, exactly where their mouths should be. His right hand traced the smile on his daughter's self-portrait.

"You see Matthew, I think you're already too late."

Her words surprised him but nothing could make him look away from the picture in his hands.

Mary continued, speaking gently and sweetly to him and Matthew felt unworthy of her kindness.

"You think that hiding yourself from Quinn will stop her from caring about you, but I've gotten to know your daughter and, despite her best attempts to hide it – she's only a child anyway and it's hard to hide such a complex emotion – I know that she already loves you."

Her words were a bullet to the brain and Matthew was surprised that his nervous system still controlled his eyes as he dragged them up to gaze in shock at the woman before him.

The sincerity of her words were getting the better of her, and Matthew watched her lower lip jump slightly with her trembling, but she pressed on, her tenacity to save him from himself driving her forward.

"She already loves you. I've seen it in her." The gold around her neck reflected onto her skin. "It's true that I've only realized it recently, but now that I see it, I feel like it's been there all along. She loves you. She simply doesn't know any other way. She can't hide it."

Mary looked away from him, like her next words would cost her something unknown, "I think it's hard not to love someone…even when you know that you're not supposed to."

He didn't want to speak but Matthew felt his lips move before he could stop them, "But the way she looks at me…with such detest."

She raised her dark eyes to his again, "It's not hatred…it's just a defense. It's the only way she knows how to hide from you the fact that she very much wants to be a part of your life. Like it or not, you are hurting her…and I think it's only natural that she wants to hurt you back to an extent."

"Well, the fact remains, she can't stand to be in the same room as me."

"She's proud, just like her father, but I think she avoids you for some of the same reasons you avoid her…" She paused but didn't lower her stare.

"The anticipation is killing me, Mary."

"You'd both rather avoid one another than have to the face the reality that you both want the same thing; a relationship, and a relationship seems impossible given the current state of things. I know that she wants your love…and I can see that you _need_ hers."

Her strangled breath emphasized the word.

Mary's words were true, but Matthew had buried that desire for so long that he didn't know if he even remembered where he put it.

He didn't hide the truth in his next words, "I don't even know where to start or how to undo all the wrongs that I've done."

She had regained her composure, "You can't undo what's been done in the past…but you can start building something else. Something new. Something that should have been there all along."

"But how?"

"Start small…like you did the night that inspired this drawing. Rome wasn't built in a day."

She must have seen the helplessness in his eyes.

"Tell her about her mother and then see how she responds." She motioned around the room. "You must be a smart man to have built such an empire in such little time, so use your brain and heart to do what feels right. Feed her small affections and details and then build on those."

She moved closer to him in the brightness of the room, and he swam in the darkness of her eyes and knew that the smile on her lips was wrought only for him, "She's a child Matthew…if you do this right, she'll hardly remember the sins of the past."

His voice was small, "And what about my greatest sin of all?"

She hit an invisible barrier in the room. She paused completely, her smile faltering, slowly falling from her lips like autumn leaves, and Matthew nearly confessed to her once more. He wanted to spill out his guilt for her, to lay it flat and let the sun illuminate it for her eyes. He wanted to come clean, to squeeze the sickness from his insides and tell her the full truth of Lavina's death. He almost handed her his guilt and his loss, knowing that she would watch over them until he could bear the weight of them again.

However, the movement of her lips entranced him and Matthew suddenly felt content only to watch her speak.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," He watched as her smile returned to him, "what matters now is that no more damage is done now that you know how much she loves you and wants to be loved in return. That simple, undeniable fact should be all the motivation you need. Remember that she loves you. Write it down and read it over and over again…" Matthew felt the black notebook jump from its banished corner across the house. "It won't be easy, but when are the things that really matter in this world ever easy?"

A retort formed in his mind but feel apart in his throat, and he was left with an open mouth, breathing the air that hovered around her. Mary had said all that needed to be said and she moved away from him slightly, turning toward the window, leaving him to sort out the madness in his mind and Matthew let her slide away.

He returned his eyes to the paper and looked hungrily upon the image of the three happy people that his daughter had rendered only hours ago in this very room. His eyes lingered on his stick-figure daughter and all of his reasoning for avoiding her for the past three years, started to turn to mist in depths of his mind.

Was it possible that Quinn loved him? Surely not…but Mary had seemed so convinced. Matthew looked at the pink paper in his grasp and remembered the night the drawing represented perfectly. He had captured his daughter's attention so easily, as if she were merely waiting to be ensnared by him. Speaking to her had been so effortless, as if he had never forgotten how. He had resurrected her smile so effortlessly, as if it were never dead, only patiently waiting for him.

All of Matthew's avoidance of his daughter had been done with the intention of Quinn not wanting anything to do with him so that Matthew could protect her from the truth of his past. He had intended for her to hate him so that he could not hurt her further, but if she already loved him, as Mary said that she did, then Matthew would not _directly_ be the architect of any more of her suffering. If she already loved him, then he wouldn't deny her love in return. He was still convinced that Quinn would hate him once she found out about Lavina's untimely death, but his new resolution was to show her affection until she no longer desired it.

He slowly put creases into the pink paper and placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket, its resting place as close as possible to his beating heart. He then turned and walked the few feet it took to stand beside the woman that saved him from himself, over and over again.

He spoke to her and heard the deepness of his request echo around the room, "I'll need your help."

Her answer was quick, though she continued to stare out at the city below them, "I'll give it to you."

A quite peacefulness fell between them and he continued to stare at her unashamedly as the world continued to spin around them. Matthew counted his blessings against the creases framing her eyes and stood in quiet amazement at the color that came to her face under the heat of his eyes. A small smile caught on the corner of her mouth, and he knew that she enjoyed how his eyes memorized the patterns of her flesh.

The pureness of her skin brought about the truthfulness in his heart and she bowed slightly under his whisper, "I'm afraid that I'll fail, Mary."

He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her head to turn and have her eyes lock with his, knowing that the full weight of her gaze would drown out his fears. He longed to suffocate in her eyes, to burn in the fire that lit her soul, to bleed out from the gashes that her stare would cause. Her eyes could maim him; he wouldn't mind.

He wanted her to look at him, but she didn't.

She did something better instead.

She reached out blindly and touched his elbow lightly. He didn't jump at her touch; he only leaned in further, not content with their proximity until the border of her silhouette fell across his chest. The bend of his arm was not her final mark and Matthew felt as her fingertips slowly traced a path down his forearm, searching out his body as she hunted for the scattered pieces of his soul. He felt her hot pursuit through his jacket and shirt and he knew the exact moment that she brushed over cells and nerves, veins and arteries, muscles and bones. He held his breath as she reworked the delicacies of his anatomy. Mary eventually found the hollow bones of his wrist, pausing only slightly, filling the emptiness there. Further her hand fell and her touch outlined his palm, before her bones knocked lightly against his knuckles and his joints. The fine hairs that covered his hand stood in the presence of her seeking flesh and, eventually, her pursuit came to a close as she finally found his fingertips. His eyes had remained glued to her visage the entire time; Mary's eyes had fallen slightly and, though she continued to look at the city, Matthew knew that she was far away, chasing a thought, chasing a dream, chasing her fate. Her touch was insistent, asking but taking, and he flexed his fingers automatically around hers. Matthew felt her long digits fall in place between his own as if it were the most natural action in the world. At the contact, Matthew looked down at the spot where she held him, and in the light of day it was clear how complete their entanglement had become. Mary squeezed his hand lightly and the contraction restarted his heart.

Her smile fell upon the city but Matthew knew she had crafted it only for him to see.

She breathed deeply and then answered his spoken confession of fear, "You should have more faith, Matthew."

And suddenly he did.

* * *

Matthew picked up the pink paper from his lap and slowly unfolded the proof of his daughter's love. The rendering of himself, his child, and her caretaker was one of the most precious things in the world to him. If The Pearl were to go up in flames and Matthew could only save one object from a smoky grave, he would easily choose this single piece of paper.

He held the picture open, next to the black book so that he could see it in his periphery as he re-read his second entry, one he had written just over a month ago.

_July 9, 2012_

_I took her advice and I'm writing this down to be re-read when things seemed to be stacked against me in my pursuit of a healthy, loving relationship with my daughter._

_On this date July 9, 2012, I discovered that, despite every reason not to, my daughter loves me. Let her drawing also be a constant reminder of her love as well._

…_faith. _

_I looked up 'faith' in the dictionary, wanting to have an exact description of her words to me on this day, and found this; 'Faith- n 1. Strong or unshakeable belief in something, esp without proof or evidence.'_

_Those are simple words, arranged into a simple sentence describing something that is anything but simple. I agree with the definition for the most part but I found one large flaw in it – I have evidence for my faith._

_I can put a name to my faith, or rather, my faith has a name._

_I held the hand of my faith again today. _

_That sentence too seems lacking, but as long as it's written down, forever etched, forever a reminder, forever a mark in time…that's all that really matters._

_And so begins the pursuit of my daughter's heart._

Matthew looked at his watch and discovered that he still had another half-hour before they needed to get going, so he chose to waste the minutes in one of the best possible ways. He decided to continue re-reading his entries, his words, the handwritten pages of his life, each replaying moments in time when the world had reminded him that he was still alive and working towards a noble goal. Matthew wanted to consume those moments again, to relive the moments that left him fully alive, full of love, full of passion, full of pain, and, most importantly, fully open to all of the opportunities that this universe still had to offer him.

Matthew turned the page.

_July 13, 2012_

_I know this will be a slow process. _

_Like moving grains of sand, waiting for a tree to grow sky high, or emptying the vast lake outside my window using only the cup in my hands._

_I've begun to test the waters simply by making myself more visible to my daughter. I enter the living room and watch fifteen minutes of a television show with the two of them. I stay for breakfast and let my daughter hear me as I make pleasant small talk with her caretaker. I come home before she goes to sleep._

_I want her to relearn the patterns of my day and see how they now include her._

_I ate dinner with the two of them tonight and I felt her eyes on me the entire time I spoke to the woman that occupied the space to my left. Eventually, I ventured into unknown territory and took a risk on something unknown. I asked Quinn how her day was. It was simple. Easy. But it took all of the courage I possessed._

_My question hung in the air, dangling above our heads in a thick cloud of anticipation. _

_Her small mouth eventually moved, her clear eyes locking with mine as her response put me out of my misery. She replied that it was 'fine, thank you'._

_It was formal and stiff but she didn't say it with any trace of contempt or annoyance. Her simple acknowledgement meant the world to me; maybe one day I'll get the chance to tell her so._

_The woman to my left let out a sigh of relief that matched the release of my own burning lungs._

_Her darks eyes understood mine._

…

_July 16, 2012_

_Quinn let me watch her draw over her shoulder today. It was a picture of an animal that looked something like a horse, its mane the color of strawberries and its back legs slightly shorter than the front. _

_I asked her if it was a horse that she was sketching and she confirmed my suspicions with a softly spoken 'yes'._

_Before I knew what I was doing, I told her how her mother had wanted to buy a small farm just outside of the city with horses and when she, Quinn, was old enough to learn, her mother wanted to teach her how to ride them. _

_My child turned and held me tightly within her gaze._

_I asked her if she would like to learn how to ride a horse. She looked at me longer, peeling me apart with her eyes, before looking away and returning to her coloring._

_I left dejectedly, my head in line with my slumped shoulders. _

_Later, when I really needed to hear it, Mary told me that Quinn had talked her ear off all afternoon about wanting to learn how to ride and insisting that she should be able to name one of the horses Louis._

…

_July 18, 2012_

_I've been sleeping much better lately._

_That's all._

…

_July 19, 2012_

_I watched my faith braid her hair tonight._

_I was watching a movie with the two of them and noticed how she leaned forward and gathered her coal-colored strands into her fists over her left shoulder._

_Her long fingers combed through the smooth darkness easily, separating the mass into three. She closed her eyes as she worked, as if the world outside of her mind would disrupt her goal. Her face was soft and relaxed, content and beautiful as always._

_Her hands were efficient in their work and the job was done quickly. The long knot was full and softly constructed around the oval of her face._

_I nearly told her that she had missed a strand near her right ear, but it fell so loosely down her neck and came to rest so naturally against her chest that it felt as if to bring attention its escape would be a great sin against humanity. So I let it be, but that didn't stop me from growing envious of it, as it got to lie peacefully against her skin for the rest of the evening._

_What is it about the darkness that makes me want to foolish things? _

_..._

_July 22, 2012_

_I gave Elsie and Anna the night off and made dinner for the two most important people in my life tonight._

_It was a simple meal. Only spaghetti and meatballs but Quinn had shyly volunteered to help me. I nearly shouted my agreement back at her, my excitement almost too much for my body to contain._

_Mary placed Quinn on a stool and my daughter stirred the sauce while I rolled the meatballs and watched as Mary drank a glass of red wine while discussing how Quinn would no longer need her water wings soon. _

_I heard my child laugh for the first time in months tonight. She was alone in the family room with a bowl of ice cream as Mary and I tidied up the kitchen._

_Her laugh was a small thing. If the television had been any louder, I probably would have missed it. She had laughed at something the animated animal on the screen had done and I yearned to rewind the movie, just so I could hear Quinn's happiness one more time._

_My heart nearly exploded in my chest and I turned to the woman at my left. Mary looked back at me with an understanding joy in her eyes._

_Eventually, we returned to the kitchen and washed the dishes side-by-side even though we both new that a perfectly good dishwasher sat slightly to the right._

_I was very domestic. I enjoyed it more than I should have._

…

_July 24, 2012_

_It's hot outside but the air inside is very cool._

_I saw Mary shiver next to me on the couch. _

_I had to excuse myself from her and my daughter's presence because the urge to warm her skin with my lips was too great a temptation to fight. _

…

_July 25, 2012_

_Or, seeing as how it's three in the morning, perhaps I should clarify that it's really the twenty-sixth of July._

_To be honest, I'm always pleased whenever Mary spends the night here, but I was grateful for it tonight because I needed her more than ever._

_Quinn woke up several hours ago, screaming loudly into the darkness of the night. Her torment woke me and I sprinted to her room fully aware, all sleep having left me the moment her yelling pleas hit the air, and I swung open her door, ready to battle any demons I would find._

_I was surprised to find her still asleep, drenched in sweat, fighting against an unseen threat. I picked her up and held her close, softly shaking her, attempting to wake her up and erase the terrors from her mind. My daughter slowly stilled and eventually opened her tear-filled eyes to look up into my face. She was peaceful and thoughtful and I saw as she realized that her terrors were only a dream._

_However, the peaceful tranquility that had found her in the darkness vacated her a moment later and her threshing and fighting returned anew. She kicked and screamed in the night but the new battle that she fought was against the cage of my embrace. She scratched at my arms, punched at my chest, and screamed for me to let her go. I was stunned at her fight against me, my hurt and my pain locked my body more tightly around her, as if it was determined to hold on to whatever it was that we had gained in the last few weeks. I didn't let go and still she fought on._

_A pillar of white and a curtain of darkness came to sit beside me and I didn't hide the suffering in my eyes as I looked into her face. My faith silently moved her mouth and I could only make out the shape of her 'I'm sorry' in the darkness because her red lips were such a contrast to her porcelain skin. _

_She reached out and slowly pried my child from my shaking arms. She quietly whispered to me, telling me to let Quinn go, telling me to give Quinn to her. My daughter slid from my arms and Mary's soft tongue started forming new words of comfort for my child. I sat still beside them and watched as she slowly calmed my child. Quinn hysterics eventually fell away but Mary continued to hold her tight, eventually rocking her into a deep slumber._

_I moved so that Mary could return Quinn to her place in the middle of the bed and I walked beside her as we retreated from the silent room. I made no attempt to hide my disappointment and she, of course, read my thoughts like an open book._

_Eternally my backbone and my heart, Mary reminded me to hold tight to my faith._

_Then knowing that I needed it more than ever, she reached out and took my hand in hers again. It was meant to comfort me but the feel of her flesh on mine only corrupted my mind. Mary turned and started dragging me slowly in the direction of my bedroom. Her hand was strong and insistent and my body tightened in sweet anticipation. I was sure that this was the moment that we had been building to and that she was on the verge of making me forget everything around me. _

_I'm sure that going to bed with her could make me forget my own name._

_But she dropped my hand at the cusp of my door and merely continued to walk down the hall to her own room._

_Forever my temptation. Forever my savior._

…

_July 26, 2012_

_Quinn just knocked on my office door and handed me a drawing and ran out of the room before I had time to look at it._

_It's open next to me as I write this. She's drawn another self-portrait but in this one her small red mouth is drawn in the shape of an upside down 'u' and blue circles are falling out of her eyes._

_Underneath the image of my crying daughter she has written "im sory"._

_She's worried that she's upset me with how she reacted to my attempts to calm her last night. What a marvelous child. What a loving spirit. _

_I'm going to find her now and tell her there is nothing to forgive._

…

_July 30, 2012_

_Rage._

_Is there a single emotion that can make you feel more human, more alive, more burning with your own vivacity, than the feeling of rage?_

_I know that there is but I can't think of one right now as my savage hatred burns through my system._

_I want to physically hurt a man I've never met, a man I have only seen once at a distance through a screen of rainfall. I've struck only two men in my lifetime. Once on the playground when I was 10 and once more when I was 21 at a less than virtuous bar in Wicker Park._

_I'd like to add a third man to that list today._

_I hate what he does to her. She brushes it off, buries it underneath, but I still see it rise to the surface every now and then and I despise the cause of her suffering. She hardly says his name and each time she does, it looks like the word has hurt her mouth upon its exit from her body._

_She battles with herself. I've tried to talk to her about it but she says that it's her own fault. I don't know why she lies for him._

_He doesn't hurt her physically (if he did, I'd be writing this from behind bars) but something is amiss in their relationship. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't wish that she was unattached but, truly, I only desire her happiness. I alone want to be the one that makes her happy but if she won't let me do it, then I pray she finds someone that will._

_Rage._

_Of course I won't do anything because I couldn't risk hurting her further. I can't risk losing her forever._

_So tonight I'll close my eyes and fantasize about the feeling of his broken skin under my fist._

…

_August 2, 2012_

_I told Quinn that her mother and I use to watch the Sound of Music together every summer. Mary then put in the DVD and my daughter laughed at me as I sang along to all of the songs._

_It was completely worth the embarrassment._

…

_August 3, 2012_

_Played Monopoly with Quinn and Mary tonight. I let Quinn win but I didn't let Mary win. She beat me all by herself._

_Slightly ashamed but overwhelming intrigued and wanting._

…

_August 5, 2012_

_Discovered Quinn in the blue room today. I walked in on her standing just inside the door, the sun hitting her curled mop head, turning her hair a deep shade of red, precisely the color of her mother's._

_I froze upon seeing her in there. No one ever goes in there. The door always remains shut. She looked back at me and I could not read the look on her angel face. It was calm, betraying nothing, but I was still shamed by it. I tore myself away and nearly ran down the hall, leaving her alone in the room._

_I dread the day she asks me about why the walls in that closed room are that particular shade of blue._

…

_August 7, 2012_

_I carried my sleeping child to bed tonight._

_She had fallen asleep on the couch while we watched TV and as Mary started to carry her to bed, I stood and asked if I could do it instead. _

_Mary look taken aback but immensely pleased. I cradled my arms, happy that my body remembered the simple action and waited for my child to be passed to me. My hands brushed against Mary's core, touching her lightly in a place that I have fantasized about for months but I hardly noticed the heat of her body with the weight of my sleeping daughter now in my arms. _

_I looked deeply into my child's serene, sleeping face and a joy that I have not felt in ages pumped in my heart. I rocked her slowly, bobbing up and down, in the same motion that I used when she was a baby. I spoke to her quietly, but I don't know what loving words crossed my lips. _

_I reached her bed too soon and had to let her go too soon._

…

_August 8, 2012_

_It rained today. I stayed home and spent the day with my daughter and Mary._

_I should skip work more often._

…

Matthew's fingers turned to the final page and his eyes fell on the entry he had written less than an hour before. He read the broken sentences hungrily, longing to relive them over and over again.

_August 10, 2012_

_Quinn and Mary are playing hide and seek. I found Quinn bent low in the corner, her eyes covered by her hands, rattling off numbers loudly to the empty room. She heard my footsteps and moved her hands to see me standing above her. _

_She smiled. I melted. She moved one finger to her lips, signaling for me to be silent and then returned to her counting. I moved away from her as quietly as I could._

_It rained again this morning and I opened the large hall closet to place my umbrella inside it. As the door fell open, I heard Quinn shout 'ready or not' and before I knew what was going on, two long arms reached out of the darkness and pulled me into the blackness. The door shut surprisingly quietly behind me, and the first thing that I was cognizant of was the feel of her warm body standing very near my own._

_Mary laughed lightly and whispered for me not to speak. I smiled and nodded to the darkness. Although, I couldn't have spoken aloud even if I'd wanted to because the feel of her warm whisper against my face had driven the air from my lungs._

_The closet was as dark as night and we stood so close to one another that certain parts of her body were brushing certain parts of mine. The small space suddenly felt like another world; a world where rules didn't apply and a world where tomorrow would never come. I felt as if I could do anything I wished within this darkness and no consequences would ever find me._

_Silence and breathing. Silence and breathing._

_My other senses were enhanced by my blindness. I felt her mind race and her knees shake. I could smell her hair and taste her exhale. Her blood was loud in my ears. My own blood was loud in my ears._

_I reached out and easily found her hand despite the darkness. Our fingers fell as they were designed to do. I wanted to see her face. I longed to see her face. I needed to see if her eyes would shine any differently in the tender moments before my lips pressed against hers. _

_The sound of quick, soft footsteps made my head jerk back and my hand released hers, and before another second passed, several feet of space had formed between us. Quinn passed by our hiding spot and as the sound of her bare feet rounded a distant corner, I quietly excused myself from Mary's presence. _

_Even as I write this, my body feels 'off'. It feels as if something has been set in motion and my limbs and my heart will not settle until that something is fulfilled. I'm hungry and I feel as if my body has been promised a great feast and it will not rest until it is satiated. _

_I wanted to kiss her. I should have kissed her._

_It wouldn't have counted in the darkness._

Matthew slowly closed the book and lowered it onto the desk in front of him. It was exhausting to read those words and feel those feelings and relive those moments, but it was also very satisfying work. His eyes saw the black cover of the book but his mind started to drift into dangerous territory. His hand reached out of its own accord and while his finger set about the familiar act of tracing the spine of the book, Matthew's mind forged the naked curvature of Mary's back.

It was easy work. His mind effortlessly fell into the fantasy.

_She stood in front of him, bathed in stars and moonlight, her back a clear canvas for him to write his name. He reached out and was surprised to find that his fingertips did not sink into the white clouds that covered her skin. His touch started at the base of her skull and he felt the tension that she carried in her shoulders. His hands ached to move that stress away. His mind traveled lower and his eyes found it fitting that her shoulder blades looked like small wings, carved by the hands of God. Still lower down her back his mind continued to travel and his fingers felt the dispersed ridges of her vertebrae, falling down the chain of her spine like a series of small mountains or large goose bumps. The thought of her flesh covered in chills made his mind shift the picture and now every inch of her skin was covered in braille-like markings; her white flesh created words for him to endlessly read using only his hands and his lips. His mind finally reached the deep curve of her back and it settled there for a long time. Matthew decided that it was right here, in the hollow of her spine, the shelf of her body, that he wanted to stay. He would tether himself to her there. He would rest his hands on her hips, her bones molding to the shape of his hands, and he would never let until she asked him to._

A loud double knock woke Matthew from his trance and he was momentarily surprised to find himself in the brightness of his office. The world sped up and he was suddenly acutely aware; he could hear the dust gathering on his books and see violet and jade rays of light. Matthew recovered quickly, shoving the book into his suit jacket and smoothing down his hair as she turned the knob and entered his office.

Matthew sighed in quiet amazement. His fantasies did her an injustice.

She stood before him, the portrait of a goddess drawn in black and white. Her chest draped in white, her legs wrapped in black, the gleaming onyx of her eyes, the pearls that lined her mouth, bare, smiling at him from across the room. Her inky hair was down and full and it stood in stark contrast to the ivory paint that covered her skin. The deep crimson that covered her lips was the only color disrupting the dual-chromatic palette.

Her smile revealed nothing. Matthew looked at her and knew she would pretend that what had transpired between them earlier, in the darkness of the hall closet, had been little more than nothing. He would honor her wish and pass it off into meaninglessness, though it would cause him great harm. They were getting good at this ruse.

The only thing that could drag his eyes away from Mary was the smiling child resting on her hip. Quinn was dressed in a smart navy dress that made her look quite grown up. Her short legs were covered by white tights and her feet where encased in shiny dress shoes. Matthew could almost smell the delicate soap that Mary had used to wash Quinn's hair and skin, the process turning her skin into rose petals and silk. His daughter cleaned up well.

Mary spoke to him from across the room, "We came to get you. Are you nearly ready to go?"

He remembered how to speak, "What time is it?"

"Almost 2:30."

"Oh," he looked at his watch, confirming her words, "so it is. Just give me a moment."

He rose and started searching his desk for the papers they would need for their meeting, shoving them, slightly carelessly, into his satchel.

Matthew addressed Quinn, his eyes and hands still rummaging, "Are you excited Quinn?"

Her voice was hushed, betraying her fear, "A little a guess."

He paused at hearing her stress and Matthew turned back towards his daughter. Quinn was partially hidden from his view but the slight crinkle in Mary's brow matched his own concern. They both knew how momentous a change the child was about to encounter.

Mary spoke to her next and she made her words lighthearted, injecting understanding, and trying to calm the child with only her speech, "Well, meeting your first teacher can be a little scary, so it's ok to be a little nervous."

Matthew built on Mary's words, wanting to provide further encouragement for his intimidated child. "You know, before you were even born, your mother knew she wanted you to go to this school and I couldn't have agreed more. I know that you're going to love it."

Quinn's head rose slightly at his words and he could see her courage start to burn a little brighter.

Mary spoke next, "Your father is right. You'll make new friends, read new books, play new games, and learn new things. It's very exciting."

In two short weeks Quinn would soon start attending the prestigious Belle Academy in the Gold Coast neighborhood of downtown Chicago. The Crawleys had a three o'clock appointment to tour the school, meet the dean and Quinn's teacher, and so Matthew could sign papers and write the school a very large check. Matthew had asked Mary several weeks ago if she would be willing to go with them, to support Quinn and provide her with the unique comfort that he was not yet able to provide for her. Mary had wholeheartedly agreed and it wasn't until several days later, over a round of midnight drinks, that she had confessed to him that she had planned on going with them, whether or not he had asked her to.

Mary spoke on, angling her head so that she could look directly into Quinn's face, "So what do you say, darling? Are you going to be brave? Are you going to be friendly to everyone you meet today?"

Quinn looked back at her, searching Mary's face for a trace of doubt.

Matthew held his breath as Mary spoke to her once more, "Please, Quinn. Will you do it for me?"

The child pondered her request for a moment longer before she eventually gave in. The child gave the woman a small smile and said, "Yes" to the space above Mary's right shoulder.

Matthew didn't hide his sigh of relief as he turned away from them and restarted his search.

Mary spoke again, though her strong voice carried across the room in his direction and Matthew knew that she was speaking to him. "Well, while you finish up, I'm going to grab my blazer and bag and get Quinn a snack for after the meeting."

"Ok, I'm sorry, I'll be done in a minute and then we can leave."

"We'll meet you by the door."

He heard her turn and continued to speak, though Mary's words were now meant for his daughter's ears. "Quinn, I've been thinking, and I think that you should tell your teacher that joke that you told me the other day."

Puzzlement coated her small, high voice, "Which one?"

"The one about the moon and the barber."

A beat of silence, and then sudden understanding, "Oh, yeah…you like that one don't you, Mary?"

Mary responded, giggles lining her words, "Well, not as much as you."

The sound of Mary's laughter made him eager, impatient to see her light up like he knew that she would, and Matthew pivoted on the spot, turning in the direction of their conversation, not knowing that that slight alteration of his stance would alter him forever.

Mary continued to laugh softly and her hand reached out and started tickling the center of Quinn's belly, causing his child to erupt in a laughter and a joy that could not be contained.

Mary spoke again, her voice louder than before battling to be heard over Quinn's laughter.

"Don't you remember how you laughed through the whole joke the first time you tried to tell it to me?"

The sound of his child's laughter affected him on a chemical level and Matthew felt his heart grow inside his chest and he feared that its expansion would soon crack his ribs.

Mary continued on, her free hand still tickling, "You laughed so hard that you had to tell it to me again, and, even then, I could just barely made out the punchline."

Mary's laugher grew harder and more natural, her ribs quaking under the assault of her joyous hysterics. Their shared laughter was untamed, and blissful, and easy, and the image of their communal happiness was the single most beautiful thing that Matthew had ever seen.

Mary threw her head back and met his eyes and Matthew had the full privilege of witnessing her unbridled joy.

And it was there…

It was right there…

It was the image of his once broken child, laughing along with the woman that had put her back together. It was the way that Mary held her, close to her chest, so that his daughter's smile formed only for her. It was the way that Quinn looked at her, with love and truth, with respect and security; and it was the way that Mary looked back at her, with adoration and honesty, with reverence and protection.

It was in the tilt of her hips and the line of her back. It was the angle of her jaw and the curve of her shoulders. It was the arch of her brows and the shape of her lips.

The world paused and time stopped but they continued laughing.

The sun hit her dark hair, transforming strands of blackness to rich burgundy and deep copper. Her dark eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them before, like deep brown pools of liquid, and Matthew was drenched only in her. She dripped from his fingertips and filled his mouth and ears, suffocating him in the most absolute and magnificent way.

He had been denying it for a while now. Perhaps, he had been denying it from the first time he saw her three months ago, across the vastness of his living room.

He'd been on the edge of it, on the fragile cusp of it, for so long now that to deny it any longer, to fight against the beautiful image before him, as it flooded his eyes and drowned his heart, would only lead to his certain death.

It was just there…

It was an acceptance of his fate.

It was her. It was only her.

It was within his reach and he grabbed on to it without a second's hesitation. It glowed in his hands and radiated throughout his body. He felt it in his bones. He felt it in his being. He felt the violent and beautiful shift take place.

Mary and Quinn's continued laughing formed the backdrop of Matthew's metamorphosis.

He fell apart. He was remade. It was chaos. It was peace.

The change was complete and he was left trembling in its wake.

She looked back at him one more time and Matthew didn't try to hide it from her; surely, so fundamental a change had left marks on his skin. She smiled at him as if she knew but still her laughing continued. She turned to leave and if Matthew had been able to speak, he would have begged her to stay.

Soon he was alone in the warmth and brightness of his office, though the sound of Mary's and Quinn's shared joy somehow continued to fill the room.

Hours and days seemed to pass by.

Sensations and mobility found him once again and Matthew's first movement was to dig into his suit pocket, searching for the only thing that could possibly contain this revelation.

He found the notebook and the pen seemed to magically appear in his right hand. He opened the book, the pages automatically falling open to the next clean sheet of paper.

She had focused his body and his script remained smooth.

_August 10, 2012_

_It seems wrong to degrade my feelings for her to a single word, but a single word is all that this language has given me as I attempt to name it._

_Love._

_I am in love._

_Simply. Wholeheartedly. Completely._

* * *

**Leave me with your thoughts? I'm curious to know them. I had originally planned on focusing only on Matthew's journal entries in this chapter, but after I started writing, I felt that I HAD to flush out Matthew's decision to try to re-connect with Quinn, and I felt that Mary had to be more directly involved in his decision. I felt that to just jump directly into the healing process would have not done justice to the story line that I've created thus far.**

**The next chapter will feature an invitation, Mary inside of Matthew's bedroom, and an emotional confession. I've taken to occasionally posting previews on my tumblr page once I finish a chunk of the next chapter (the link can be found in my profile) but be WARNED that it my blog is NOT spoiler free. I've been watching the third series of Downton and I reblog all things Downton, specifically Matthew and Mary, like its hot. I'm also THE laziest person when it comes to tagging my posts (I normally just hold down the control button and click on the Reduce, Reuse, Recycle symbol) **

**RighterB out.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A million and one thank you's go out to ****Tumblin' Downton, aka SaraPellow, for doing another fabulous beta read for me. It amazes me how she often understands what I'm trying to say better than I do. If this chapter flows well, it's only thanks to her. **

**I'm not really sure how the rating with these chapters is suppose to go, but fair warning, an F-bomb is dropped in this chapter.**

**I also want to take this time and say thank you to all of you that have favorite(d), alert(ed), or left a review for this story. I often respond to reviews and express my gratitude/answer questions (though I really dropped the ball on doing this for the last chapter). However, some of you review anonymously, so I just want to say that I read each and every comment, and words can do little to aid me in my attempt to express to you how much your encouragement/praise means to me. So…thank you.**

**My only aim in writing this story is for you, the reader, to experience the thrilling sensation of having the warm reminder of your own humanity flowing through your veins. I only want to open you up, and make you feel human.**

**I hope I accomplish that goal. **

…

Mary loved the sound of her heels clicking on the pavement. She loved the give and take—the sharp scratch and the loud strike.

Mary loved her heels but she hated the bag on her right shoulder. It was heavy and the summer had made her weak.

She had become accustomed to carrying only juice boxes, animal crackers, crayons, loose sheets of construction paper, and the occasional plastic horse. The summer had made her weak, or at least forgetful.

Mary forgot what it felt like to carry notebooks, binders, biographies, manuscripts, her laptop, and thick books with stiff, cracking spines and yellowing pages.

The summer had made her weak and forgetful, but the past two weeks had made her quickly remember.

Mary was leaning heavily to her left as she walked, trying to compensate for the weight of her school bag. She normally loved early September days like this, when summer heat and autumn chill stopped arguing for the day and both agreed on a cool breeze and a warm sun, but her day had been ruined by the unavoidable task of research. It was a perfect day and Mary was slightly bitter about having spent much of it inside DePaul's library. She hadn't even been able to find a table by the window so she could at least pretend to enjoy the day, so she had to resign herself to a dimly lit corner of the stacks. Mary had started her last year of postgraduate work two weeks ago and was already feeling the stress of balancing a flexible but demanding school and research schedule, her time with Quinn, and a deeply struggling relationship.

But she was away from the library now, out in the sun and walking the streets of the neighborhood she loved, trying to ignore the weight of the bag as it beat a rhythm against her hip.

The streets were busy with students, professionals, and young families, most going in separate directions but some stopping to exchange pleasantries. The streets were bordered with large leafy trees, wrought iron fences, and telephone poles, covered in flyers for art shows and open mikes. Mary's ears were filled with the sounds of passing cars, friendly chatter, a collage of music coming from open windows, and the ever-present distant rumbling and screeching of the train. The sidewalks were wide but they were crowded with dog-walkers, babies in strollers, teens on skateboards, men and women in business suits, and the occasional runner trying to dodge them all. The streets that Mary walked were lined with townhomes, boutiques, restaurants and bars with patio settings, and mid-level apartment buildings; there were no skyscrapers like The Pearl anywhere in sight.

The sun was yellow and warm and the sky was a blanket of flawless blue. It was days and moments like this, as she passed friends and families, co-workers and strangers, that reminded Mary why she loved the Lincoln Park so much; it had that unique and familiar neighborhood feel while still managing to maintain a distinctly urban make up.

Mary moved passed a determined businesswoman trying to hail a taxi before rounding a corner filled with student houses, and having her eyes land on her destination—Bean and Book.

In Mary's opinion this small café, which was located almost exactly halfway between her apartment and the heart of campus, was the single greatest place on earth. She frequented the spot for their espresso and steamed milk, but stayed for the ambience of used books and good conversation. The café was fairly large, with wide windows and red brick interiors, but its over-stuffed chairs and couches, textured rugs, scratched tables, and vintage artwork made it feel cozy and warm. Books were a part of the framework and the foundation of the café; the ones that lined the walls and the groups that were stacked into collapsing piles in corners and next to chairs were meant to be thumbed through and read, and others, like the stack that was underneath the cash register, the ones above the restroom sink, and the several that were placed under wobbly table legs, were not meant to be disturbed. The placed smelled of ink stained paper, coffee, and Chicago.

The door softly chimed a familiar tune when Mary pushed it open, and after taking a moment to survey the small crowd inside, Mary eventually spotted Sybil at a small table in the front corner of the room. Sybil's head was bowed over an especially large book in her lap and she had not seen Mary enter. Open books and papers were several layers deep and they covered every surface of the table in front of Sybil, and even at the small distance, Mary could see the look of deep concentration on her youngest sister's face.

Mary crossed the café towards her sister, manoeuvring around several large stacks of books as she walked, and sighed silently as she lifted the heavy bag from her shoulder, enjoying the tingling sensation of blood returning to her arm and fingertips.

Mary stopped beside the empty chair in front of Sybil and still her sister had not looked up from the enormous book in her lap. Mary was impressed with Sybil's focus and determination; she had always considered herself to be a better than average student but never possessed the drive and work ethic her sister invested in everything she did..

Mary finally spoke, "Is that just some light afternoon reading?"

Sybil jumped slightly at Mary's greeting and lifted her tired eyes to meet Mary's before the sisters exchanged small, warm smiles, "Oh, hi. Sorry I didn't see you come in."

Mary laughed lightly and sat down in the empty seat opposite Sybil, "I can see that." Mary indicated the large medical book that was still open in her sister's lap, "Enjoying that?"

Sybil rolled her eyes and closed the book with a thump, "No one _enjoys_ reading this, just like no one _enjoys_ taking 21 credit hours and trying to study for the MCAT."

Sybil's was slumped in her seat: defeated by sleeplessness and endless worry.

"When do you test?"

"October 14." Sybil said the words as if in a trance, staring blankly at a spot on the floor, as if the date were her judgment day.

"I don't envy you."

Her sister's words were lifeless and hollow, "No one envies me."

Mary matched her tone to Sybil's, "Sorry, darling." The words could do nothing but they were all Mary had to give to her.

Sybil looked up and met Mary's concerned eyes before the younger sister smiled tiredly and sat up taller in the wooden chair. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be moping. I haven't seen you since classes picked back up. How are you?"

"Well, honestly, I'm a little concerned about you. We've only been back in school for two weeks and you look exhausted already."

"No, I'm fine really. I'm stressed but who isn't?"

"I don't know darling…the pressure seems to be eating you alive."

Sybil laughed hoarsely, "You sound like mom. I'm fine. Trust me." Sybil picked up the oversized mug in front of her and took a quick sip of its contents before speaking again, "Honestly, talking about the exam with some of my classmates has made me realize that I'm actually in a pretty good place."

"Is that 'place' suppose to be teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown, because I feel like that's what's in store for you."

She took another sip of her coffee, "You're so dramatic, Mary."

"Are you enjoying any part of school?"

"I am. My classes are challenging but I find most of them to be incredibly interesting—the human body is magnificent in its complexities. There's also this gorgeous guy in my Organic Chemistry class…I'm enjoying _him_ quite a lot."

Mary was unconvinced but laughed despite herself, "If you say so, but please try to get some sleep at night."

Sybil rolled her eyes and placed her mug back on the table, "I will, I will. Now, will you please turn off the mommy switch and talk to me like you're my sister."

Mary smiled at her youngest sister, unable to remain worried about her, "All right."

Sybil returned her smile, "Now, how are your classes going?"

Mary looked back over her shoulder at the café's counter and took note that her favorite barista was working the bronze espresso press. She turned and bent to open her bag, searching for her wallet, "I'm going to get a drink first."

Mary's fingers continued to grope in the vastness of her bag, tripping over book spines, loose papers, and index cards, but Sybil's reply ended her searching.

"Oh, I already got you one." Sybil reached down to the floor at her right and retrieved an insulated paper cup with a lid and handed it to Mary, "Here. I got it just a couple of minutes ago so it's probably still really hot."

Mary took it greedily in both of her hands, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the waxy, thick paper walls of the cup.

"Thank you, darling. Did you get me a…"

"Medium non-fat white chocolate mocha with an extra shot and no whip?...Yes I did."

"You know me well."

"Please Mary. You once memorized everyone else's lines in a school play just so you could help me practice my part…the least I could do is remember your coffee order."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"It's fine. It's fine. Now, tell me about your classes."

"Well I technically only have two formal classes because I took an Independent Study course with Doctor Fullop in hopes of getting a head start on my dissertation. It's given me a lot of time outside of class but now I'm conducting my own research as well as assisting Fullop with his."

"What is he researching?" Sybil seemed to genuinely be interested.

"Actually, it's how medical practices, specifically emergency situations, improved between World War I and II. So, after I no doubt read hundreds of different books and articles on the subject, maybe I'll be able to understand half of the words you're saying when you discuss your own studies." Mary smiled at her youngest sister and took a tentative sip of her coffee and was pleased to find that it did not burn her tongue. She licked her lips, appreciating the sweetness of the white chocolate and the bitterness of the robust espresso, "Honestly, when I hear you talking to some of your classmates, it's like you're speaking a different language."

Sybil laughed several times, "And that language is what we call Latin."

"Haven't you heard that Latin is a dead language?"

"Yes, but it's _universally_ dead so everyone in medicine understands it."

"Whatever," Mary took another drink, "it's still stupid."

Sybil lifted a single brow in her direction and said through her laughter, "Really well reasoned Mary."

They laughed together for several moments, enjoying the easiness of their relationship and the simplicity of the present.

Sybil picked up her mug again and curled her legs underneath her body, settling in for a long conversation.

"So, how is Quinn? How is she adjusting to school?"

Mary's laughing subsided and she sighed heavily. She sat her drink down on an impressive pile of Sybil's medical books before reaching behind her and stretching her spine, trying to pull her own exhaustion from her body. No matter how much the child had grown in recent months, the subject of Quinn was always draining. Mary fluffed her hair with her hands before picking her cup back up and settling deeper into her chair.

"All right I guess, especially considering how far she's come in the past month or two, but the first couple days were hell."

Mary's eyes glazed over as her mind wandered back in time, "I dropped her off with Matthew for her first day and it was horrible."

Mary saw that day three weeks ago. She had held the child's hand as they walked her to the classroom. The girl's grip was vice-like and Mary knew what was coming. She felt it building on the surface of her soft skin, building to a breaking point. She could sense the fear in the child's grasp, and taste the dry worry in her own mouth. They had tried to say goodbye outside the room, wishing her well and giving her smiles that would do nothing against the storm that would soon break free above their heads. Mary had twisted her fingers free from Quinn's hold all while the child fought against the loss of contact. She stood small before them, her hands empty and shaking, her uniform clean and pressed, and her pink backpack filled with new school supplies that would offer her no comfort when they left her there alone. Quinn's angel face turned red, contorting with hurt and terror, unable to grasp why the two adults before her would leave her in such an awful place. Her mouth was wide and her eyes were shut. The echo of her screams was muted by the children that passed by them in the crowded hall, but Mary knew the anguish that spread from her lungs. Quinn had managed to re-attach herself to Mary, though this time she choose one of her legs, burying herself in her hip, hiding herself from others, trying to blend into Mary's flesh so that she too could go with them when they left. In that moment Mary hated herself and everything about this situation, and she began to convince herself that Quinn could start school next year; there was always next year. It was Matthew that pried Quinn from her body, his hands strong but gentle, and it was Matthew that had been able to calm his daughter to the point where her breathing was no longer strangled by her terrors, and it was Matthew's hand that Quinn had grasped as all three of them entered the room and found Quinn's seat in the back corner. They were not the only set of adults that started the day with a certain child, but they were the set that stayed the longest. They made their escape around eleven, while Quinn was busy in her natural element of arts and crafts, and found themselves in a quite café. He bought her lunch and coffee and they stayed there for a long time, not saying much, both silently praying that Quinn would eventually settle into the routine of school. They returned to the Belle Academy several hours later and found, to their great relief, that Quinn didn't have another breakdown in their absence.

Sybil spoke, dragging Mary out of her memories, "Was it that really that bad?"

Mary rubbed the back of her neck with a free hand, trying to press the tension from the knots that permanently resided there, "That first day, I felt so hopeless. The second day was a little better and the third was a little better than the second. Hopefully, things will settle down completely soon."

"Has she made any friends?"

Mary laughed once, humorlessly, "I don't think she's even spoken to anyone yet, but…" she sighed and her breath carried her troubles, "…we are trying to take it one step at a time. Step one was no more blow-ups, breakdowns, or crying, and I think we can cross that one off the list, because she hasn't cried at all in nearly a week."

"Well that's something."

"Yeah it is. Step two will be for her to get comfortable with the process of going to school and being separated from me. And step three…"

Sybil cut her off, "Wait a minute…there is a whole step that just involves the process of Quinn being away from your side?"

Sybil paused and her words hung in the air above them. Sybil looked at Mary with wide eyes and a parted mouth and it was obvious that she was implying something that was lost on Mary.

"Yes?"

"A whole step that _only_ involves her being away from you—you don't see how this situation could be a bit problematic?"

Understanding was beginning to dawn on her but Mary's voice remained small in her mouth, "What do you mean?"

Sybil's tone was soft and kind and it was obvious that she took no pleasure in her next words, "Don't you think Quinn is getting a little _too_ attached to you?"

Mary found that she could no longer look her sister in the eye.

Sybil continued, speaking quickly, "You know how pleased I am that Quinn is improving by leaps and bounds, and you should be rewarded for your tireless efforts. Every day that passes she heals more and more and I'm so happy that you've discovered that a child that we all once thought was emotionally damaged beyond repair, could be happy again and love again, but…I'm worried about what is going to happen to her when you leave in…" Sybil paused and counted the passage of time, "…eight months time. I fear that she's too dependent on you and that she'll revert to old habits when you go your separate ways."

It was like Sybil had managed to discover and read the darkest corners of Mary's mind. Mary felt assaulted, bruised, and slightly nauseous under the weight of her own deepest fears. Of course Mary too had read the signs—they had been staring her in the face for weeks and weeks. Mary knew that while they had managed to dig themselves out of one enormous hole concerning Quinn's emotional issues, they had, unknowingly, landed up to their ears in another one, and it was hard to see a way out. She knew Quinn was becoming too attached to her, and she knew, in turn, that she was becoming too attached to the girl. It was hard to avoid the reality of the dangerous situation, but Mary was managing. She chased it away with the pressure of Quinn's hugs and replaced them with the image of her peacefully sleeping in her arms. She had tried to burry the truth of the matter, tried to hide it underneath the child's smiles, and smear it away in her laughter, but it was creeping to the surface of Mary's conscious mind more and more.

The date would come. It was unavoidable. It was marked in bold red ink in her mind. One day Mary would have to let her go and say her goodbyes.

Mary sat still, slumped over in her chair.

Sybil continued, speaking only loud enough for Mary to hear, "I'm sorry if I've upset you, I'm just concerned that's all. I mean, you're going to leave eventually, right? …You're…" Mary heard her baby sister swallow thickly, "…you're not her mother, Mary."

Sybil's words made her heart skip several beats and made her mouth sour with a bitter reality. Mary looked up at her sister and she wanted, so desperately, to be angry with her. She wanted to scream at her until she was red in the face. She wanted to point out all of her flaws and she wanted to dig up old ghosts. She wanted to make her as uncomfortable and as frightened as she had made her. She wanted to be angry with her youngest sister, but seeing how Sybil looked across the table at her with only sincerity and concern, Mary just couldn't manage it. Sybil's words painted a perfect picture of the hardships that Mary would face when it came the time to leave Quinn, but it wasn't her fault that they had wounded her so badly.

Mary tried to conceal her pain in a half smile that didn't reach her eyes, "I know that." She tried to chain together a string of laughter but it sounded unnatural and dry, "You know that I always get attached to the kids I watch."

Sybil smiled sadly along with her, but Mary heard the words her sister wanted to say. If it was Edith that she was sitting across from, Ed would have told Mary that she had never got _this_ attached to a child and she needed to start finding ways to distance herself. But Sybil was not Edith, and therefore, she remained silent.

Mary continued on, desperate to get away from this sensitive topic, "Anyway, Quinn's getting better and better. I think she's accepted her fate and realizes that she's not getting out of going to school, so she's decided to muddle through it as best as she can."

Sybil saw how Mary was running from their previous conversation and she decided to run along with her.

"Well, I'm sure that every day will get easier and easier for her."

"I hope so too…" Mary paused remembering, "but I gave her Grey for luck."

Sybil's eyes widened with her shock, "You did? That's saying something. I never thought you'd part from that thing. Is it working?"

"I think so. Children want to believe in magic and fortune so they accept the possibility of it. When I told her that Grey would protect her and give her luck when she needed it, she believed me without question, and she's become more courageous ever since…I haven't seen her cry since I gave him to her."

Grey was the name Mary had given to the small gray stuffed dog that her grandfather had given to her when she was just a baby. She had had the small toy for as long as she could remember and Mary had always fancied it a good luck charm. As she got older, her childhood things slowly left her, most got passed down to Edith and then to Sybil, and others were sold at yard sales or given to church drives, but Grey always remained solely in Mary's care. It was one of the few childhood possessions Mary took to the city six years ago and now it was the only one that remained. She couldn't really explain why she kept it for so long, perhaps it was the things that she and the dog had seen together, or perhaps it was the way his insides had always perfectly absorbed her tears, or perhaps it was because its dark, shining eyes always reminded her of her grandfather's warm gaze.

Therefore, Mary felt there was some meaning in how freely she had given the dog to Quinn. It had been an easy decision, something that had popped into her mind the evening before, and was decided on in nearly the same moment.

_The wind had been gusting that day in front of the large brick school, sending tufts of Quinn's curled hair into her eyes, and Mary had to continuously move the red and gold strands away so she could see the girl clearly. Mary had bent down to Quinn's eye level, kneeling uncomfortably on concrete, as she reached in her bag and retrieved the small dog. _

_She pressed Grey into Quinn's outstretched palm and Mary felt no pain as the toy's worn fabric passed over her fingertips, only a new acceptance that the trinket was no longer hers._

_Mary explained to her, "I wanted to give you this, Quinn."_

_The girl curled a pink fist around the animal and looked at the toy with a mixture of curiosity and gratefulness. _

_Mary continued, "His name is Grey and he's my oldest friend." The girl then looked up at her with her father's blue eyes, and Mary had to take a moment to gather herself before she continued, "You see, he was my lucky charm and I've had him always, so you must promise to take good care of him for me."_

_Ever thoughtful, the child asked Mary in a whispered voice, "Don't you need him?"_

"_Not as much as you." Mary moved a red curl from the girl's eyes, gently tucking it behind her right ear. "I've told him that you are going through a big change, with starting school and leaving home and meeting new people, and he told me that he wanted to help you."_

_The wind blew coolly against her face, and the child's curiosity turned to wonder in a flash and Mary saw, in the clear blue depths of Quinn's wide eyes, that the child accepted her words as the absolute truth. _

_Mary spoke on, a warm pressure weighing on her heart, "He'll keep you safe and sound as long as you look out for him too, so bring him home every day without a scratch."_

"_OK." The child's voice was still soft but it carried a new belief and a new confidence, and Mary felt as if she could have wept with relief._

_The morning bell rang, loud and clear in the distance, and Mary pulled the girl in for a quick embrace._

"_Have a good day, my darling. I'll be back for you at 2:30." Quinn's father's eyes shone beautifully back at her. "Goodbye then…" Mary leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on one of the girl's soft, pink cheeks, before pulling back to meet her gaze and managing a smile that she hoped would mask the tears in her own eyes, "And such good luck."_

_The girl slowly walked towards the school, Grey cradled softy but securely in both of her hands and her hair blowing softly in the breeze, and Mary had to fight the burning in her lungs as her emotions threatened to undo her on the busy street._

Sybil's voice once again brought Mary back from her memories, "Well I'm sorry that you had be parted from Grey but I'm glad that he's comforting her while she's on her own every day."

"Yeah…I am too."

The café door's bell rang in the background and Sybil took another drink from her mug before shifting in her seat and asking, "And how is her relationship with Matthew coming along? Still progressing positively I hope?"

It's a horrible thing to have your free will taken away from you; to have your mind shut down and stolen away, and to be forced to endlessly chase darkness and delusion. It's numbing to have divine forces dictate the direction of your dreams and judgments, and it's crippling to be influenced against your own resolve. It's a magnificent catastrophe to feel your own free will slip away into nothingness at the simple mentioning of a name, but Mary was becoming accustomed to the regular occurrence of it.

Her heart beat out a new rhythm when he was on her mind and Mary relaxed into her chair, reveling in the persistent drumming against her ribs.

There's been a shift in him; a change that has altered the pattern of him. He's different but familiar, modified but recognizable. There's a different weight to his eyes, a different bend to his body, and different tone to his words. Their shared and loaded moments hold a new flavor, and he is bearing a fresh resolve. His eyes are the same shade of flawless blue, but they feel different against her skin. They make tracks and bleed through the surface. They demand her attention and call to her across the room. They hold the familiar trap but a different determination lies beneath their shine.

His bright eyes are now patient. His gaze is fixed and waiting, biding its time, active in its inactivity.

There's been a small shift in him, but Mary knew that even small shifts had the potential to cause earth-shattering quakes.

Mary could no longer look at her sister across the small table, knowing that her eyes would shine with the thought of him, "Things are going really well. It's slow, but steady. Some days great oceans are crossed, but other days…puddles can't seem to be jumped."

Mary has kept both of her sisters well informed on the positive progressions of Quinn and her father, even when they don't want to hear about it. It's become her new favorite talking point and discussion topic. Mary boasts of Matthew and Quinn's growing relationship proudly, radiating joy and pride when she speaks of their simple words, thoughtful gestures, and full-lipped smiles. For the most part, her sisters listen with open hearts and minds and are genuinely pleased to hear about their growing relationship, but on some nights, when Mary endlessly rattles on about the two of them, leaving little to no room for other conservation, Sybil has tried to politely change the subject or Ed has told her to 'shut-up about it' in the unique way that Edith is able to bluntly speak her mind with an air that is humorous rather than offensive.

Mary continued on, "I can't stomp out my fear that he'll collapse in on himself again, dragging Quinn down with him, but he hasn't yet. He's persistent, pushing against her hostility with patience and love, graciously giving her what he can and not expecting anything in return."

"I'm really happy to hear it, Mary."

She could hear the smile on her sister's face and Mary looked back at her with a matching smile, "Me too. It's been wonderful to watch and be a part of." She laughed once and confessed, "It's healed a part of me that I didn't even know was broken."

Mary has watched them slowly heal; truthfulness and openness stitching them back together. They patched each other up with tape and glue, with words and gestures, with scraps of paper and quiet moments. They were still broken, parts of them hanging by the thinnest strand, but they were discovering an unknown strength and a newly acquired will.

Mary spoke on, her thoughts chasing a new train of thought, "He's been great with her, opening up to Quinn bit by bit, and rediscovering her in the process, but I fear that he can only take it so far."

"What do you mean?"

Sybil assumed that Mary was speaking to her, but in truth, the woman spoke aloud for her own benefit, desperate to shuffle through, sort out, and solve the mystery surrounding her employer.

Mary spoke softly, leaning forward in her chair, and balancing her drink in both hands as her eyes fixed on a specific ray of sunlight, "He's still holding something back, still afraid to be fully exposed. I see it when he looks at her…so much love, masking so much pain. I don't know what it is exactly, but he'll never be able to really connect with her, or anyone for that matter, until he learns to let go of whatever haunts him and forgive himself."

Sybil spoke, reminding Mary that she was not alone, "Forgive himself for what?"

"For whatever it is that happened to his wife. He blames himself for her death."

Mary heard her sister's sympathy in her quiet, breathless voice, "What a weight to bear."

Her voice was just as breathless, "I know." Mary paused, gathering her emotions before continuing on, "It's one thing to grieve for a loss, it's natural, understandable, but to actually hold yourself responsible for it…well, lets just say it explains the state I found the two of them in early this summer."

Sybil moved forward in her chair, matching Mary's posture on the edge of her seat, and her soft, raspy voice was encouraging, "But, they are moving forward."

"But how much further can you go when your still being dragged down by the past?" Mary thought of him, the sun in his hair, his tongue on his lips, a cool breeze breaking around his body, "… I fear that he'll never be able to move on…to love someone again."

Mary stopped at her spoken confession, internally chastising herself for being so selfish.

"Well, it's still better than nothing. Think of how far they've come in just the past two months. He's behaving like a father should and there's hope they can both make a full recovery in the future."

Mary heard how ardently her sister defended a man she'd never met, a man that, until slightly over a month ago, she had ridiculed for being a coward and chastised for being a deadbeat.

"You're very forgiving, Sybil. It's a lovely quality that I wish I had more of."

Sybil gave her a crooked smile, "Well you have more of a forgiving heart than Ed does…I think she still blames dad for destroying her chances with Patrick."

Mary laughed loudly, the memory of how angry Edith had been with their father when he refused to let her go to the senior prom with their neighbor Patrick when Edith was only 15, pulling her out of her misery.

"Well that's true, she'll probably hold that against him until the day he dies." Mary took another sip of her coffee, "How's Ed doing? I haven't seen her since classes have started back up."

"Oh you know Edith—kicking ass and taking names. She's been working a ton, putting in 14-hour days and living off coffee and Cliff Bars. But, every time I get a chance to talk to her, all she talks about is how excited she is to go out for your birthday."

Mary sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, "Good Lord, I know! She's been bugging me about it constantly. It's still three weeks away but she wants to know the exact itinerary for the evening, including all of the places we're going, so she can, and I quote, 'dress accordingly and figure out how hungover I'll be'."

Sybil laughed along with her, "Well, we all look forward to it."

"I know, I know and I do too, but honestly, she needs to get a life outside of work." Both sisters fell back deeper into their seats laughing, "And she desperately needs a shag. Is she seeing anyone?"

"Please! Ed's personal life is more depressing than mine, but tell me, how is your love life going?"

Mary froze. Her free will was seized and the rhythm of him picked up in her chest again.

Mary knew of whom Sybil was speaking—the man she shared a bed with, the one that she kissed goodnight in the evening and good morning at daybreak, the one whose sweaters hung next to her's in their closet, the one she bought toothbrushes for and wholewheat cereal, the one that she carried on with, desperately wanting to believe that all was well. Sybil asked her about Rick, but Mary's mind gravitated towards another.

Mary was running out of reasons to fight her attraction to him, especially now that he was behaving as a father should. At first he was only a nagging sensation, something she was always cognizant of but could still be easily brushed aside and buried. But she buried him too deep, in too fertile a place, with too much of her to feed on. So he grew. At first it was slow, the simple sprouting of a seed, but now, with the aid of his cultivating hands, Mary was in full bloom. His roots ran alongside her veins and wove around her bones. He became a glorious weight and a set of welcome chains. He infected and spread, claiming and conquering in the most rapturous way. He was unavoidable. He was yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He was the present but still she hid him, tucked deep, but always threatening to spill over. He was a precious secret that she held in the softest parts of her mouth, not to be whispered allowed, though he ceaselessly screamed in her mind.

The change in Matthew has been wonderful for Quinn, but it's been a source of trouble for Mary.

Matthew has implanted himself into many facets of Quinn's life— dinner time, movie time, play time, and has become his daughter's newest artistic inspiration. He crept up and slowly bled into nearly everything, the latest being their bedtime stories, which he started to frequent just over a week ago.

Mary felt her eyes glaze over again. The world, including the sunlight and the people around her, fell away into a hazy mist and a muted shadow.

And suddenly it was two nights ago…

…

_The sun had just set. The sky was a deep velvet blue, slowly giving way to blackness. _

_Matthew was in front of her, sitting up in the girl's bed, his back propped up by pillows, stretched comfortably in a tailored suit. His daughter was dressed in satin and lace, her hair as soft as freshly picked cotton, and she was perched on the man's lap, losing a hard-fought battle against sleep._

_Mary sat on the edge of the bed to their left, close enough that she could smell the sweetness of the child's soap, close enough that she could taste the oak and green mint of his aftershave, close enough that if she were do as her heart desired she could easily stretch out her fingers and touch the silver watch around his wrist. _

_A familiar book was clutched in Mary's hands, her eyes tracing over and her lips molding around the words that her mind had memorized years ago. _

_Mary tried not to get caught up in how the father and daughter were positioned together, but the sight of the girl curled in his lap was something she was still astonished by. The past two months had been life affirming. It had been her suggestion for Quinn to sit on Matthew's lap while she read to her in the evenings, and though their shared reluctance was evident at first, neither unwilling but both frightened to take the first step, eventually, the two adjusted and slowly fell into the shape of it. _

_Mary spoke aloud from her favorite childhood book, her voice clear and resonant in the quickly darkening room, and the words dripped from her mouth, filling the gaps in between them. _

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

_Quinn too had taken a liking to The Velveteen Rabbit and she had requested in on numerous occasions, but this was the first time Mary had read it aloud while in Matthew's company._

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

_Suddenly, the printed words held a new meaning; a different translation in light of the man that sat by her side._

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "But when you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

_Mary paused and looked up. The child was asleep against her father's chest, peacefully rising and falling along with his breath, but he was awake, and his bright eyes were pealing her apart in the shadows. He was entranced by her words, left hanging, and frightfully exposed by the truthfulness of them. _

_She lowered her head and continued reading the love story to him._

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time…"

_Mary heard him breathing._

"…That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept…"

_Matthew had been kept, holding his own amongst darkness and pain, but she was helping him slowly unravel._

"…Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all…

_His eyes called to her in the darkness, and she answered him as she always would. His exhale brushed against her cheek, and she read the rest of the words from memory, his gaze draining her of everything..._

_Of everything but him._

"…because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

_Mary stopped, unable to go on, seeing the realness of the man beside her._

_He was real. _

_Something had crept into his eyes while she read, and though he clearly wore it for her to see, she was too frightened to accept what he offered._

_He was too real. _

_But she stayed with him. She stayed in the depths of his burning eyes. The glowing heat that radiated from him bubbled her skin and burned her past the point of numbness._

_His eyes melted her down to her simplest form._

_Blood and water._

"_Mary…" he confessed her name._

_She was only blood and water._

"_Mary…" he professed it again, and she sensed how good it was to be on his lips._

_Once more he called to her in the shadows of the night, and she moved so that she could be nearer to the realness of him._

…

"Mary…"

The tenor of his voice had shifted and it assaulted her ears.

"Mary?"

She was back in the café, her senses returning to her in a barrage of sights and sounds, and it was her sister that was calling her name.

"Mary? Are you all right?"

Mary shook her head, shaking the dust of him from her eyes, "Yes, I'm fine…sorry about that. I was just remembering…something. What were you saying?"

" I was asking how things were going with Rick?"

"Oh." Mary couldn't even hide from herself how defeated the simple word tasted in her mouth, but she recovered, forcing a half smile that soon fell apart, "We're…doing ok."

Mary wondered if her lips were bleeding from the lie.

Rick was everything that she once wanted—he was smart, successful, hardworking, handsome, and driven. He was loyal and loving and for the past two years when she thought of her plans for the future, they always included him. She planned her life, step by step, and she always intended on taking each and every one of those steps with him by her side.

They had committed so much to one another, their presents and their futures, and it was difficult to go back on that type of promise. She once held his hand and told him that she would love him forever, and at the time, she could not possibly have spoken a set of truer words.

For years, she and Rick had been building something of great worth, but the foundation they had constructed together, brick by brick and beam by beam, was starting to crumble into ruin. The dust of their love clung to Mary's clothes and the rubble of her own broken promises stuck to the soles of her feet, tripping her and slowing her with every step.

Of course, he had his flaws. He was capable of being sharp and selfish, arrogant and haughty. But she too was flawed; Mary knew she had the capacity to be both proud and cruel. He wasn't perfect, but neither was she, and for so long, they were going to be imperfect creatures together.

But that was before.

Before another had tempted her. Before she truly knew longing or addiction. Before she understood the difference between want and need, affection and devotion.

But those truths could not change the promises she had made to Rick, and Mary's guilt over harboring such strong passions for another man was an immovable force, permanently residing somewhere between her heart and her gut.

Sybil spoke, "We'll that doesn't sound very convincing…are you sure you two are ok?"

Desperate to save face Mary lied again, "Yeah, we're ok. I mean, we have our troubles, but what couple doesn't?"

Mary was still clinging to the hope that she could talk herself out of her feelings for Matthew, hoping that he was only a temporary temptation. But Matthew was nowhere in sight, and it was easier to convince herself of the lie when his eyes were not unmaking her.

The café's door opened with the light chime of a clear bell again and Sybil was still unconvinced, "You know, Mary, no one would think any less of you if you were to end things with Rick."

Mary looked away and bit the warm flesh of her cheek, her ever-present guilt making her feverish.

Sybil continued, her voice soft and kind, revealing her worry for her sister, "There is no shame in walking away, and sometimes…it's better to end things before they get any worse."

Sybil's words had hit a chord and Mary's response was soft, her pain making her whisper, "We've made each other a lot of promises, and I think…I hope, that it's just a rough patch."

"But is that all it is? A rough patch?"

Mary was fighting a losing battle but she continued to struggle on, her mind not believing what her lips were saying, "We're fine. Relationships take a lot of work."

"I know that, but sometimes things just don't fit and no amount of tape and glue can hold them together."

The past few months with Rick had been ugly. They fought constantly about nothing specific. A simple statement would be taken out of context, and then, 20 minutes later, they would be shouting things at one another that had nothing to do with where they started.

The battled with one another, matching up punch for punch, word for word.

His tongue cut her; her statements poisoned him.

But still they fought on. They fought passionately and desperately. Perhaps they were fighting to cling to whatever was left of them. She fought to maintain all of her promises. He fought to actualize their once rosy future. They fought to maintain their shape.

But he was broken. And she was broken. They were irregular pieces of something that resembled only a delusion of what they once were. It was a thankless task, but they soldiered on, both continuously searching for a place to put themselves back together again.

So much effort had been expended on both sides, but they were running out of road.

He was trying…but he knew. She was trying…but she knew.

Mary spoke on, giving a final push, "…I've made a commitment. And I don't take it lightly."

"You can't blame yourself for feelings beyond your control."

Mary had found some strength and her words begged for reason, "But we're so perfect together. We are so similar."

"There is more to relationships than just having similar personalities. You always say how smart, hardworking, and successful Rick is, and those are admirable qualities, but you never talk about how he makes you feel."

Sybil paused, and suddenly their roles were reversed. Mary had always been the wise voice of reason in her younger sister's life but Mary suddenly saw a lot of wisdom in her sister's eyes and she listened intently to what she had to say.

Sybil continued, speaking with emphasis and simplicity, "I have no doubt that you love him, but do you love him _passionately_?...Do you love him frantically and unconditionally?"

Mary thought: _I once did_.

"Does he make you forget your own name and how to breathe? Does he make you laugh? And I mean really laugh?"

_No_…

"Does he make your pulse race and your stomach drop?"

_No… _

"Is he the best part of your day?"

_No…_

… _Someone else is._

"I guess the real question that you should ask yourself is: Does he make you hope that a tomorrow never comes without him being at the center of it?"

In the crowded café, Mary suddenly felt very lonely. She was small, insignificant, and her chair swallowed her.

Sybil's pause did not last long. Eventually, she spoke on and her voice bore a new lightheartedness and her words carried a carefree resolve.

"Besides Mary, the best thing in the world is to just be smashed drunk off someone else." Sybil picked up her mug and said with one raised eyebrow, "And you know that the best kind of sex…is drunk sex."

Sybil exploded into a fit of laughter, her own joke bringing tears to her eyes.

Mary laughed softly, her spirits lifting in spite of herself, "Good Lord Sybil! I was just about to praise you for how eloquently you spoke of love, and then you unload that _gem_ of advice on me. "

Sybil only laughed harder.

"And I really don't want to know what type of sex you think is best. You now sit before me a grown woman, but part of me will always remember you in a Minnie Mouse nightgown, clutching a worse-for-wear Barbie."

Sybil laughed for a moment longer, before eventually calming down to a point where she could speak again.

"Ok, well honestly, you should expect someone great for yourself Mary…Don't be happy with someone that doesn't light you on fire and constantly make you feel a little inebriated."

Sybil unloaded a full-watt smile on her, and Mary couldn't help smiling back.

Sybil spoke on and Mary watched as she continued to rattle off advice.

"You need someone who will treat you as an equal, someone who leans on you as you lean on him. Someone that knows your passions and gives you new reasons to be passionate…Someone who redefines certainties, only for you."

Sybil did not know it, but she was perfectly describing the feelings Mary already harbored for another man; the man that now consumed her every moment.

Mary didn't know when it happened, but somewhere in her recent past she started counting the passage of time not by the weeks on a calendar, or by sunsets, or by revolutions on a clock, or even by the slow crawl of earthly shadows, but only by the base of him. Mary divided her life into two parts—when she was with him, and when she was _not _with him.

It was a dangerous way to live; she either floated in the heavens, or she sank in the deep.

Sybil spoke on, "You need someone who will value you, really value you. You need someone who knows the worst parts of you but only highlights the best of you."

Mary laughed again, "I feel like I should be taking notes, Sybil."

The door to the café chimed in the background again, but Sybil remained undeterred, "You need someone who makes muddling through this life worth the struggle. You need someone who buys you good books and makes you strong coffee."

"I think I get the point, darling."

"You need someone who loves you to the point where it makes everyone else around you a little sick. But most of all you need to be sick. Sick on him. Your shared love needs to be incurable. Inoperable. Permanent."

Suddenly, Sybil's concentration was drawn away. Mary watched as her sister's eyes slowly vacated hers, floating slightly away, locking on something else. Her sister's gaze was still wide and focused, though her attention was now directed towards something directly behind Mary.

Sybil spoke again, though she was now in a slight trance, "You need someone younger, Mary…Someone with an innocent face…and perhaps with a business…or law background…"

"Well that's oddly specific."

But Sybil didn't hear her. Mary's sister was leaning slightly to her right, her eyes moving in response to whatever was holding her in its thrall. And it was clear from the vacant look in her eyes that Sybil was only thinking aloud as she continued to speak.

Her voice was slow and deep, "You need someone with pull-able, dirty blond hair…someone with blue eyes that could ravage you with only a glance…and someone that really does justice to a well-tailored suit."

Sybil stopped talking and leaned further to the right, her eyes shining with curiosity and admiration, and suddenly Mary knew what or, more to the point, _who_ was behind her.

The new rhythm picked up in her chest again and Mary's breathing became very shallow, her lungs struggling to maintain their normal pattern. The blood had drained from her face, but her ears and neck suddenly became very warm.

Mary's eyes remained fixed on her sister's face, and Mary knew with an absolute certainty who it was that Sybil was studying. Chicago was a city of about 2.7 million people, but Mary knew he was standing somewhere behind her.

Now that she knew he was with her, Mary was sure she could sense him in the atmosphere. The air suddenly tasted like the red wine he would pour for her, she could smell the sweet oak of his aftershave, and she was certain she could hear his steady heartbeat.

Mary breathed deeply; sure that she could distinguish his essences from the rest of the room. She dragged him from the air, keeping him all to herself, and smiled at the sensation of him filling up and coating every part of her lungs.

She considered it a great tragedy when she had to push him out, but it was a blessing to breathe him in again.

Mary sat up very straight in her chair, all of her senses on high alert. She followed the line of Sybil's eyes, slowly turning in her seat towards the entrance of the café, her whole body tightening in the wonderful anticipation of seeing him.

Her stomach was in knots. Her chest was hammering. Her mind was focused.

And he was there.

Matthew stood by the bar waiting, one hand resting on the counter, the other in his pocket. His worn messenger bag was slung across his body, and his dark blue suit jacket was open, revealing a long, scarlet necktie.

He looked carefree; the simplicity of it made Mary happy.

He had not seen her. He stared at a spot on the ground, seeing through it and into something else. He was chasing something in his mind, and after a moment or two, he finally caught it. His unfocused eyes focused on the image and, ever so slowly, his face broke into a small, private smile. It formed on his perfect lips but it lived in his dancing blue eyes.

The sight of his small, brilliant smile softened Mary even more. She felt her bones dissolve and her muscles disappear, and though she knew that her innermost workings had completely vanished she could only sigh with the sweetest relief.

The barista drew Matthew from his happy memory, handing him a paper cup exactly like the one Mary held in her own, now trembling, hands. He thanked the man with a friendly smile.

Matthew turned to the open room, taking an experimental sip from the cup, and then pursed his lips in an appreciative fashion. He scanned the room, not looking for anyone or anything, just observing the buzzing life around him.

He eventually discovered her.

Their eyes did what they were designed exclusively to do—interlock. Entwine. Fuse.

All other expression fell from his face, and Mary knew that they shared the same look of wonder.

They were each only human, only a man, and only a woman, stripped down and raw, portraying only their most basic human needs—nourishment. Hydration. Shelter.

She fed off him. He drank her deeply. They were cloaked only in the other.

It was all they needed.

Eventually, he smiled. The gesture was pure and full, and it looked very similar to the one he had in the quiet confinement of his own thoughts only moments ago. She smiled too because she couldn't help it.

She felt easy. She felt light. She divided the time—she was now floating.

He started moving towards her, still smiling, still entwined.

Faintly, as if from the end of a wire or a distant echo across the room, Mary heard Sybil speak, "I saw him first Mary."

He was at the halfway point of the room, and as he nimbly moved around stacks of books, his full smile turned a little crooked, revealing his happiness and his slight embarrassment.

Mary responded to her sister, just as breathless as she always was when trapped in his gaze.

"Trust me, darling…"

The edge of his shadow was nearly on her.

"…_I_ saw him first."

She only got to breathe once more before he was upon her.

He stood beside her, gazing down, his tousled hair falling across his forehead, slightly occluding his dancing, brilliant blue eyes.

Mary felt the strong desire to reach up and push the rogue blades of his hair across his brow, putting them in their rightful place by burying them deep into curve of his scalp, only desiring the unobscured window to his soul that his gaze provided her with. She yearned to clearly see the shape of his eyes, but she knew that if her fingertips were to find themselves entangled in the thick forest of his golden hair, their hungry pursuit would linger longer than they should, and they would eventually only succeed in pulling him closer to her.

Thankfully, Matthew relieved her of the temptation, running his free hand against his brow before speaking.

"Good afternoon, Mary."

His voice was sex warmed up, and she felt the deep tenor of it rattle her ribs.

"Good afternoon, Matthew."

Her voice was a little shaky, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Matthew?"

Sybil's questioning exclamation, brought both of them out of their dream-like state, and they quickly looked away from one another.

Mary turned towards her sister, blinking rapidly, trying to hide her flushed skin from Sybil's examining eyes.

Sybil looked between Mary and Matthew quickly, bouncing from Mary's embarrassed look of horror, to Matthew's shy smirk, and Mary internally chastised herself for wearing her emotions for Matthew so blatantly while in the presence of her all-too-perceptive sister.

Mary could actually hear Sybil's mind working. It sounded like the furious typing on a keyboard or the quick scratching of a sharp pencil on paper.

Her sister processed the information quickly, taking into account everything she knew about the situation before her. She knew about Mary and Matthew's professional relationship and their quick growing friendship. She also knew the necessities concerning Mary's failing relationship with Rick and she knew about the unfounded guilt Mary harbored because of it. And then she had the evidence of what had just enfolded before her eyes, witnessing the intense greeting that Mary and Matthew had just shared, knowing that it carried with it so much more than friendship.

Mary cursed herself once again.

Sybil's eyes were as fast as her mind, and every time they touched her, Mary felt more and more uncomfortable.

Then, with a loud and resonating click, Mary knew that Sybil had realized the truth before her.

And they were found out.

Mary saw the realization dawn on her youngest sister, and she could only use her eyes to plead with Sybil, silently begging her to not speak of it aloud.

It was Matthew that recovered first, and he extending a hand to Sybil and said with a polite smile, "I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. I'm Matthew Crawley."

There was an uncomfortable pause between them, and Mary knew that her sister was still trying to fully comprehend her new understanding. Sybil was in a trance, her lips slightly parted in her shock.

The sisters were still locked in a knowing stare and Mary pleaded with her once more.

_Please._

_Please act normal. _

Thankfully, Sybil soon collected herself. She blinked several times, shedding her eyes of all remnants of her surprise, and she took Matthew's hand firmly, bestowing on him a confident and radiant smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you Matthew. I'm Sybil, Mary's youngest and most favorite sister."

Mary made no attempt to hide her sigh of relief, and both Matthew and Sybil turned to look at her.

Mary met Sybil's eye again, and she could almost hear her sister say— _I've got this. Try to hold yourself together._

Mary recovered quickly, smiling brightly and indicating Matthew, "Yes, Sybil, this is my boss."

Matthew turned back to her, "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I do, but the fact remains that you employ me."

"I know, but it sounds so formal, so stiff."

"Well, what would you like for me to call you?" She smiled.

"…I haven't figured that out yet…but I'm working on it." He smiled.

Sybil looked like she was going to combust.

Mary laughed, "What are you doing in my part of the city anyway?"

Matthew indicated the busy city street outside the window behind Sybil, "Oh, you know me…business as usual. I have some real estate nearby, and I was just checking up on it, making sure everything was up to standard."

Sybil then spoke, "Don't take this the wrong way but, surely you have someone who does that sort of thing for you."

"Yes, I usually do, but this particular property is…special, and I wanted check it myself."

Mary then spoke again, her tone indicating her surprise, "I didn't know you had any property in the area. Is it anywhere that I'm familiar with?"

Matthew looked down at her, and his eyes again shone with something that his words left unsaid, "Yes, I believe you are familiar with it."

He left it there, and Mary was just about to push him further on the matter, when Sybil cut her off, "And you've discovered our favorite hangout. " She indicated the café around them, "So, tell me, what do you think of it?"

"It's great. I love the atmosphere of old books, old wood, and old friends." He indicated the paper cups in his hand, "And it's got killer espresso."

He lifted the cup to his lips momentarily before asking Sybil how her studies were going. Their conversation was friendly and easy, to Mary's great relief. After several minutes, Matthew pulled up a nearby chair, and the three of them talked of pleasant, albeit somewhat trivial, topics, ranging from the Chicago's changing weather to a Bon Iver concert that Sybil was going to tomorrow night.

Eventually, Mary caught a glance of Matthew's silver wristwatch and she saw that the time was nearing for her to pick Quinn up from school.

"Well," Mary stood, picking up her empty cup and heavy bag, "I've got to get going. The train is a little irregular this time of day and Quinn will be expecting me in about 20 minutes."

Matthew stood too, "I wish you'd let me lease you a car. I hate the thought of you riding the train all over the city just because you care for my daughter."

"I've always taken the train all over the city. I truly don't mind."

"I just don't want it to be an inconvenience for you." Matthew glanced quickly at Sybil, who sat quietly watching them, before leaning in closer to Mary and speaking in a hushed tone, "And you know that leasing you a car wouldn't be an inconvenience for me."

Mary understood that Matthew was subtly indicating his vast wealth. Mary knew that Matthew's incredibly comfortable financial state would allow him to easily purchase her a new car as easily as Mary brushed off buying a four-dollar latté.

She too spoke with a soft tone, "I'd really prefer it if you wouldn't…It's just too…"

She didn't finish the sentence but she hoped Matthew would see her discomfort with the idea.

Matthew again glanced at Sybil before turning back to Mary, "Let's just discuss it later. Agreed?"

Mary sighed, foreseeing the inevitable argument in the near future, "Yes. If you'd like."

Matthew stood straight again and turned on the spot to gaze down at Sybil, "Well, I too must be going. They were expecting me back at the office over 20 minutes ago." He extended another hand to Sybil, who shook it warmly, "It was a true pleasure meeting you Sybil. Mary has told me wonderful things about both you and Edith and I now know they're true."

"It was nice to meet you too, Matthew." Sybil met Mary's eye with a knowing look before looking back at him. "I hope to see much more of you in the future."

Perhaps Matthew understood Sybil's meaning because his answer was a little too sincere, "Yes…I hope so too."

Matthew turned back to Mary, about to make his goodbyes to her as well before Sybil stood to speak to him again, "Well, if that's the case, you should come out with us for Mary's birthday in a couple of weeks."

Matthew and Mary froze, both surprised by Sybil's invitation.

Mary glared at Sybil, hoping her sister could feel the heat and fury coming from her eyes.

Matthew looked uncomfortably between Mary and Sybil for several moments only eventually managing an incoherent response, "uh…I'm…uh"

But Sybil pressed on, undeterred by Mary's obvious rage and Matthew's hesitance, "It's so much fun every year. A small group of us go out for a casual dinner and then spend the rest of the night at different bars drinking and dancing."

Matthew eventually managed a coherent sentence, "…I'm…I don't…I'm not really a club kind of guy."

"Trust me, Mary isn't either but it's the one time every year when she lets us take her to a couple."

Matthew looked briefly at Mary, who still stood unmoving, glaring daggers at Sybil, before speaking again, "…I don't know."

Sybil was nearly begging him, "Oh please, you must come. It's so much fun and we are only treated with a drunk Mary two or three times a year and her birthday never disappoints."

Mary's fury now doubled and she internally screamed at Sybil—_I'll kill you_.

However, the promise of seeing an inebriated Mary intrigued Matthew whose voice suddenly became very strong, "Really?"

Sybil spoke on excitedly, not bothered by the hate spilling from Mary, "Yes. She's in very rare form and it's so wonderful. Last year she got on the bar and danced Coyote Ugly style and the year before that from she spent most of evening speaking to everyone she met in a surprisingly good British accent…She was a hot mess. It. Was. Fabulous."

Mary thought—_I'll kill you in your sleep_.

Matthew turned back to Mary, his eyes shining with his interest and excitement, "You don't say?...Well, I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to see you both drunk AND dancing."

With this Mary finally unfroze, "I only dance ironically."

Matthew corrected himself, "Well, I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to see you both drunk AND ironically dancing."

Mary spoke to him again, with a fake smile plastered on her face and hoping that her shaking voice wouldn't betray her panic and anger, "Oh you don't have to Matthew. It's not that much fun. Sybil is GREATLY exaggerating it."

"No I'm not!" Sybil spoke quickly, defending herself, "Mary, last year Ed and I had to talk you out of 'Bedazzling' all of your jeans when you got home."

At hearing that Matthew laughed out loud and then said, "Well, now I'm definitely coming."

"And for your 23rd birthday you asked me if I wanted anything from the bar and when I told you I only wanted a water, you asked me what 'kind of water' I wanted."

Mary tasted red.

"And then the next morning we found you asleep in the bathtub wearing a cape and a top hat and, to this day, no one knows where you got them."

Tears were forming in Matthew's eyes as he continued to laugh loudly.

Sybil continued on, fighting through her own fits of laughter, "And the year before that, Edith told me that you were doing drunken cartwheels on the sideswalks of Michigan Avenue at three in the morning."

Matthew was now clutching his gut, unsuccessful in his attempt to speak through his hysterics.

"She also said that Napier had to physically stop you from crawling over the counter at Don Taco because you wanted to make your own nachos, insisting that they always 'fuck them up'."

Mathew finally found his voice and he begged Sybil, "Oh my God! Please! Please stop." He wiped away a tear before continuing, "I can't take any more."

Sybil was smiling along with Matthew and, for the first time in her life, Mary wanted to physically attack her little sister. Mary knew she was an entertaining drunk and she often enjoyed reminiscing over the few times in her life when she cut loose and had a night to remember, but she never wanted Matthew to know of her embarrassing exploits.

Mary saw that her case was lost on Sybil so she turned to Matthew again, hoping she could talk him out of going, "But you said yourself that you're not really a club kind of guy and you aren't going to know anyone besides me and Sybil."

However, Mary could see that Matthew had already made up his mind and he only responded to her by asking, "What's the matter, Mary…" he laughed once more before turning the full weight of his eyes on her, "…Don't you want me?"

Hooked and sunk under the brilliance of his eyes, Mary spoke honestly without thinking, "Of course I want you…very much."

There was no way that the truth of her words escaped Matthew, but he was kind enough not to bring any more attention to them. He smiled at her and said, "Well then, it's decided. I'll come out with you and celebrate the magnificent day that God brought you into this world."

Mary shook her head at him again, but it was hard to tell him 'no' when he looked at her in this way.

Matthew leaned a little closer to her and made a suggestion, "How about, this year, I'll help you have a fabulous birthday but I'll also stop you from doing any thing too embarrassing that you sisters can use against you in future?"

He offered her a small smile that undid her on the spot and she was consenting before another moment passed.

His smile widened and his eyes sparkled brighter than before, driving the oxygen from her lungs in the most heavenly way.

He looked at his watch again, "Now, I've really got to be going." He turned towards Sybil, "It was lovely to meet you and I look forward to seeing you again in a couple of weeks. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to help with the arrangements."

He then turned back to Mary, "And I'll see you tonight around six."

Mary bid him goodbye and Matthew turned to leave but before he got more than a few feet away, he turned back to Mary and said with a small smirk on his lips, "And, Mary, don't be too mad at your sister…I think a night out will really do us both some good."

He smiled at her once more before turning and walking away, the door chiming clearly as he walked out the café's door.

…

The deep amber sun came through the walls of The Pearl at a slanting angle, giving everything in its path an elongated and soot-colored shadow. Mary's own shadow extended down the hall nearly ten feet behind her as she moved soundlessly on bare tip-toes.

Her anger at her sister had been quelled hours ago, having decided there was no one else in the world she would rather spend her birthday with than Matthew. Of course, she gave Sybil a good chewing out for revealing her not-so-finest moments, but she couldn't be mad at her for the outcome. The thought of spending a carefree night with Matthew, out in the city she loved, was a mouth-watering prospect. She dwelled on the idea the entire time on the train and it wasn't until she caught herself smiling widely at the idea of dancing with him on a darkened dance floor that she felt her shame resurge. She remembered Rick and the hot stone of guilt that permanently lived inside her grew warmer and larger.

But now her guilt was quieted, contained, and she carelessly danced barefoot on the creaking floorboards. The only sounds in the penthouse were that of the ticking grandfather clock and her own breathing, as she prowled the vastness around her in search of the girl. Their games of hide and seek were becoming so frequent that they were starting to run out of hiding places, forcing both of them to become more and more creative.

Mary had just left Matthew's office, having been unsuccessful in finding Quinn there, and she now stood outside the closed door of the second guest bedroom.

Mary paused, unsure about whether or not she should open its always-closed door. Mary knew the room was innocent enough. She had been in it numerous times looking for Quinn, and had discovered her there more than several times, but there always seemed to be a bit of an ominous feeling about the room.

Eventually, she decided on quietly turning the door's curved handle, and entering the seldom-seen room.

It was bright and warm, just like all the rooms in the penthouse, and it was decorated in mostly pure whites and deep grays. It was slightly smaller than Quinn's bedroom, around the same size as Matthew's office next door, and its walls were a pleasing shade of blue; the color fell between Royal and Persian, making it both playful and soothing. The room was eerily quiet and, despite the fact that it was spotless, it bore a strange scent; it had the taint of being closed up and unlived in, like plastic and dust and new paint. Mary thought that perhaps it was the undisturbed smell that bothered her the most about the room. A space this bright and pleasant and warm should be lived in, not kept permanently shut and ignored as if it bore an infectious disease.

Mary checked underneath the bed, behind the shower curtain, and inside both the vanity and wardrobe but Quinn was not to be found. She left the room, closing the door silently behind her and turned in the direction of the kitchen and living room. She had already thoroughly looked through both areas, so she passed by them, heading in the circular direction of Quinn's room, her mind on the upstairs of the child's playhouse.

Mary stood at the cusp of the child's doorway, about to enter into it, when she saw, about 30 feet further down the hall, the slightly cracked door leading to Matthew's bedroom.

Her curiosity was piqued by the allure of the unknown. Matthew's door, just like the second guest bedroom, always remained closed. In fact, in her four months of caring for Quinn, including the hours and days she had spent in the penthouse, Mary had never seen the inside of Matthew's bedroom.

Mary started walking towards his open door, her mind empty of everything but her desire to know where he tried to conquer sleep each night.

She paused outside his door and tried to quell the pounding of her heart. Mary knew that Matthew was not yet home; she had been walking about the penthouse for the last ten minutes, opening doors and cabinets and looking under beds and around corners, and was certain that, if he had been home, she would have discovered him. Therefore, there was only one reason for his door to be cracked as it was. It was an unspoken rule that Matthew's bedroom was off limits for their hide-and-seek purposes, but perhaps Quinn decided to break the rule, desperate to find a new hiding spot.

Mary placed an open palm on the door's smooth surface, the coolness of the polished wood transferring to her skin and making her flesh pimple with chills. She held her breath as she pressed against it, and silently walked over the threshold of his bedroom.

Her first thought was that Matthew had been holding out on her. The rest of his home was the very essence of luxury and class, but he had spared no expense in the outfitting of his own personal sanctuary.

Mary's immediate impression was that the room felt very comfortable and warm while still being very luxurious. It blended rustic themes, deep mahogany wood and dark blues and grays, with modern angles and cuts.

The focus of the dimly lit room before her was an enormous bed that was placed on a high platform against the wall to Mary's right. A set of carved, wooden steps surrounded the bed on three sides, and the bed's headboard was made of the same polished wood, its shape straight and angular. It was the wall behind Matthew's large bed that emitted the room's soft glow. The wall had been designed in a three-dimensional fashion, with different flat planks of wood jutting out at varying depths, the foremost of them all being backlit with a warm light.

Mary estimated that the glass wall in front of her was the southern side of The Pearl leaving Matthew with an unobstructed view of the South suburbs and leaving Mary with a clear picture of the small balcony that his bedroom projected out into the sky. The balcony held an enormous hot tub, a large all-weather couch, and a woven canvas hammock that looked slightly out of place.

The wall to Mary's left and the wall behind her were adorned with a variety of large black and white panoramic photos, printed on stretched canvases, of city skylines from around the world. She recognized Paris, London, and Los Angeles but others she was unfamiliar with.

There was a sitting area in the space to her left that held a large television, a gas fireplace, an oversized navy couch, an elegantly shaped chaise lounge, and matching mahogany coffee table and bookshelf. Her intrigue was heightened by the sight of Matthew's private library and Mary found that she had an overwhelming desire to search through his books and curl up with the most weathered-looking one.

However, her interest was pulled away by the promise of seeing more of his personal dwelling space. The wall that Matthew's bed was placed against had a large opening in it, and Mary walked through it, finding herself in the master bathroom.

Matthew's bathroom was almost as large as his bedroom, and it sat on the southwestern corner of the penthouse. Mary's bare feet were chilled by the speckled grey tile, but she paid little attention to them as she took in the room around her. It too was decorated mostly in dark brown furnishings, but it was also designed in ivory marbles and stainless steel accents. A large double sink vanity was to her immediate left and to her right there was a small walkway that led to two closed doors. Mary tried the door to her right and discovered a room approximately the size of her childhood bedroom that served as a walk-in closet for Matthew's clothes. He had enough clothes to last a dozen men a lifetime and they all hung in pristine fashion around her. The other door to her left matched the same layout of Matthew's closet, but it had been converted into a small, albeit well-equipped, gym complete with a treadmill, free-weights, a bench, yoga mat, and a variety of other equipment.

She exited the closet and found herself deeper into Matthew's bathroom. She discovered a steam room, an all glass two-person shower, and a small, enclosed room with a toilet, bidet, and small hand sink. At the very back of the room there was another fireplace and a large infinity tub that was built into the floor, so that a person could step right into its overflowing water and gaze at the city below.

Mary wandered back into Matthew's bedroom, wanting to discover more of the finer details there, and found herself at one of his bedside tables. The table held a small reading light, a pair of his glasses, a bent and yellowing copy of _A Farewell to Arms_, and a single picture frame the color of bright sunlight.

Mary picked up the golden frame and was treated to a view of what Quinn would look like as a grown woman. Mary had never seen a picture of Matthew's late wife, and, as she stood studying the woman's subtle beauty and warm smile, her heart broke for the world's loss. How young she was. How lovely she was. How tragic it was. The woman looked to be about the age Mary was now, and the knowledge of her short life was a terrifying reminder of Mary's own mortality. It made her want to live the life she had always dreamed of; she wanted to dance in the streets, write a book, rescue an animal, give away everything she owned, and most of all, kiss a certain man while she still had a chance to. Mary gazed at the woman's smile, it was beautiful but chilling, and the longer she stared at it, the sicker Mary felt, her emotions warring between shame and envy. However, she could not let the frame out of her grasp. Mary held it tight in both hands, imprinting into memory the woman's no longer shining eyes.

"Hello."

Mary gasped and nearly dropped the frame, but thankfully her reflexes were quick, and she caught it before it crashed to the floor.

She knew he stood behind her, but her shame at invading his privacy was too great to face him just yet. Mary closed her eyes and held her breath, wishing herself into oblivion, prolonging the inevitable moment when she would have to look into his beautiful and betrayed eyes.

Mary slowly replaced the photograph, feeling her erratic heart in her fingertips, before finally turning towards him, an apology already forming on her lips in anticipation of seeing his fury and disappointment.

But his eyes revealed nothing of the sort.

Matthew stood just a few feet inside of his own door, his body relaxed and his face serene. His lips were parted and his soft gaze was focused only on the small frame that had just left Mary's hands.

His chest rose and fell evenly.

Matthew started slowly walking towards her, his eyes still absorbed by the photograph. He traversed the great expanse of the room in only a few paces and a moment later Mary felt the waves of his sweet breath breaking effortlessly around her body. He physically stood three feet in front of her but Mary knew, from the distant look in his eyes, that he was far away.

And she saw that something violent was building inside of him.

Matthew bent slightly and reached across her body, making for the golden frame that contained physical proof that his wife had once been real.

His eyes were turning dark and heavy with unsaid things and he gazed at the picture with both wonder and sorrow.

His voice was soft; the quiet before the storm.

"I met her through a mutual friend when I was 23. I fell in love with her slowly… but once I fell…I fell hard, and I never looked back."

Mary tried to hide her surprise that Matthew was speaking to her about his late wife, but her attempts were pointless; Matthew never raised his clouding eyes to look at her.

"We married a year later. Some people thought that it was too soon, but…I knew…I knew. I knew she was the one and while it was terrifying, it was mostly freeing. Everything synced up. Everything worked. Perhaps it was harder for some people, but it wasn't for us."

The storm in him grew. The wind picked up. The leaves turned over. The air felt heavy.

A blackening cloud formed over his body.

He paused, and Mary heard him swallow thickly, his eyes still on the frame.

"She died from the complications of a minor car crash…the doctors called it an epidural hematoma…bleeding on the brain."

The sky outside his window was a flawless blue, but Mary heard a crack of thunder issue from somewhere deep behind his ribs.

She was frozen in shock. After months and months of wanting to know the demons that haunted him, she found herself unsure whether or not she wanted him to continue.

But continue he did.

"It really was my fault that she died..."

Matthew reached up and lightly touched the glass barrier that kept him from her.

"We had been hit by another car but we both seemed to be unscathed. There were no cuts, perhaps some bruises would form the next day, but we both seemed fine…she seemed fine."

Bright lightning broke around his body but Matthew remained in the dark.

Mary was unsure why he spoke so freely to her. Perhaps, after years of torture and years of choking it back, he simply couldn't hold it in any longer.

He softly stroked the curve of his late wife's flat cheek.

"The police came and the ambulance came, and they suggested that we go to the hospital for further testing. I knew we should probably go but we were already running late for the auction, so I told her we could go to the hospital afterwards. She was a bit reluctant at first, but she eventually agreed and we hailed a cab."

Emotion now laced its way into his voice and Matthew spoke through his strangling grief, "We eventually made it to the hospital, but she arrived in the back of an ambulance. She had already passed out…" the first rain drop hit the framed picture, "…and she never opened her eyes again."

And the storm inside him broke.

His voice grew loud and mad, and his body quaked.

"I traded by wife's life, for the chance to bid on a Monet."

Matthew finally looked away from the frame in his grasp and Mary met his rain-rimmed eyes.

He was not himself. He was the storm. He was mad with his torment. Plagued by his guilt. He wore his grief clearly for her to see, and it hung from his body at every point, weighing him down, anchoring him to the hurricane.

There was no warmth left in him.

She longed to cut him free, but, as he looked at her with his dark, haunted eyes, Mary felt as if she finally understood his pain. And he was not to be helped. His remorse was a part of him, blending in and inseparable from the rest.

Mary wanted to look away, to run away, to be sheltered from the storm.

But she stayed and witnessed its destruction, her affection for him tying her safely to the shifting ground.

"But that's not the worst of it, Mary. There's more. Something that no one else knows."

Raindrops continued to fall from him, coursing down his cheeks.

Now Mary was truly frightened and her imagination formed endless possibilities for what his next secret held.

Matthew held out his shaking hands towards her, his beautiful face contorting into a mask of self loathing.

His voice grew even louder, battling against the elements around them.

"You see, I have the blood of two people on my hands."

He shook. She shook.

"The blood of my wife…the blood of my unborn child."

She was numb… She was numb… She was numb…

She was numb but she had never felt such pain.

He shouted over the wind and thunder, "My wife was three months pregnant with our second child."

Matthew paused momentarily, so overcome with sadness and anger that he was nearly sick.

But he swallowed the bile in his throat and pressed on.

"No one knew yet. We were just about to tell everyone, but then there was the accident. Then there was my selfishness. Then she was gone…taking our child with her."

The world inside of his bedroom shook and Matthew was sobbing, heavy cries breaking through his strong chest, and Mary broke along with him.

She had never in her life felt so incredibly helpless. What was she to say to this man that had lost so much? What could possibly comfort him amongst his darkness? Amongst this neverending storm?

"We had only known that we were pregnant for about seven weeks…but we both knew, without proof or reason, that it was going to be a boy…That's why the walls in the second guest room are blue…blue for my little boy."

Matthew strangled her with his eyes and Mary felt the burning tracks of her tears fall silently down her face.

She desperately wanted him to stop. She wanted to unlearn everything she had just heard. She longed for the sweet relief of ignorance.

But the storm in him would not be stopped.

"And it turns out we were right...We were going to have a son…But I killed him. I killed him with my arrogance and selfishness."

His eyes were no longer blue, they were thunder and lightning and the sickness of grief.

Matthew moved closer to her, standing only inches away and he lost what remained of sanity as he pleaded with her, reaching towards her with urgent trembling hands, "So you see now, Mary. You understand why I hate myself. I am cursed. I am damaged beyond repair."

He was drenched. Soaked to the skin in his grief. It dripped off him and pooled about their feet.

But the tears would not stop falling down either of their faces.

"You now know why my daughter will hate me when she discovers the truth. And you now know why _you_ should stay away from me…"

Suddenly the storm within him turned over and quieted. The evidence of its destruction was still around them, her wind swept hair and his red-rimmed eyes, but the clouds had parted above.

The wind stopped howling, Mary felt the warm sun return to the room, and Matthew suddenly found himself amongst the madness of his warring mind.

Mary saw sanity return to his eyes as he repeated his final words to her, his voice no louder than a whisper, "…stay away from me Mary."

He stopped then, the world was quiet, and they breathed the humid air in unison.

Matthew was himself again but he was stripped of all his protective layers. He stood exposed before her eyes, and for the first time in their relationship, Mary felt shamed enough by the raw passion outlining his essence to look away, the nakedness of his soul almost too much to bear.

But she didn't. Mary met his gaze, looking past the dirt and grime of what he wore for her, and saw the brightness underneath.

Words. Words. Words.

Letters and words.

Mary knew all of the letters and she knew thousands of words but she was unable to recall any of them. Her lips could not scramble, combine, and build the letters, and her mind could not string them together in any combination of sounds or iterations that would bring him any kind of peace.

Words failed her. Sentences failed her. Language failed her under the burden of his lost eyes.

But then, what good would even the wisest of words do him?

Perhaps a day would come when someone could try to talk him out of the unfair burden of responsibility he had placed on himself, but, seeing the helplessness in Matthew's eyes, Mary knew today was not that day.

She saw Matthew's knees falter under the weight of his broken soul and Mary knew that the ground was about to swallow him whole.

Words could do nothing, but her arms could tether him to the earth.

Mary moved forward, keeping him locked in the deepest parts of her eyes, and she closed the small gap in between their broken bodies.

Matthew watched her slow progression, mesmerized and willing, and Mary felt the sweet caress of relief that left his red lips.

As Mary lifted her arms, gliding around the broad expanse of his shoulders, she felt Matthew's fingertips lightly touch her back. He was questioning her, testing her, and she gave him her assent.

His hands grew courageous; they danced along her spine, before flattening out and becoming strong, pressing deep and making prints, pulling her ever closer to him.

And they fell in together.

They wrapped each other up, holding one another as lovers did, heads on shoulders, faces in hair, chests pressed together so that the movement of his lungs was the movement of her lungs, and his arms, tightly holding the blood in her body, was the same as the anchor of her hands, sinking into the space between his shoulder blades and burying into the golden sand of his hair.

They sewed themselves together.

They were pressed, secure, and unmoving but for their breathing and the small explorations of their hands. He discovered the bow of her back and molded his fingertips to fit perfectly in between the gaps of her ribs. She memorized the shape of his shoulders and the texture of his hair.

They held each other so tightly and so completely that Mary lost track of where she ended and Matthew began.

She breathed him in and he gave her lungs a higher purpose. Her inspirations were deep, measured, and controlled, mastering the way he filled her.

And suddenly, Mary understood Sybil's words from earlier in the day.

Her sister had urged her to be drunk off another and, while standing in the cage of his embrace, breathing the intoxicating fumes of him, Mary found that she was hopelessly inebriated. He made her suggestible and light. He clouded her mind and blurred her vision. He burned her throat and thinned her blood. He would cause her to slur her speech and lose the delicate filter that kept him off her lips.

He affected every aspect of her mind and body in the most exposing and breathtaking way, and Mary knew that to be intoxicated by him was the sweetest oblivion this world had to offer her.

Her lips were close to the skin of his neck. His lips were near the bud of her ear and never had the simple sound of slow, even breathing been so ensnaring.

Matthew's hands continued to roam, brushing over and pressing against, loving her body in the simplest and purest way.

She felt his deep intake of breath and his whisper brushed softly against her face, his softly spoken words saying the exact opposite of his adoring hands, "…You should stay away from me Mary."

Mary quivered involuntarily and responded by pulling him closer and holding him tighter.

So close they stood together that his warm heart was inside of her chest.

So close they stood together that her exhale fell from his lips.

She cradled his head in her trembling hand and spoke, her words holding an undeniable truth that neither one of them fully grasped in the dimness of the setting sun.

"I can't stay away from you Matthew."

And the simple contraction of his arms wrote out their futures.

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**OK, now for some author notes. My husband is a last year medical student, so any misinformation concerning Lavina's death, is **_**only his**_** fault **

**I've also had several people ask about some of the other characters in ATM (like how did Anna and Bates's meeting go? or am I ever going to write in Carson?) and my only response is that ALL of the other characters in this story are only plot devises surrounding the arc of Mary and Matthew. I'm sorry if that upsets some of you, but I have a hard enough time wrapping my head around Chicago Mary and Matthew, and I don't trust myself to spend a lot of time on other characters. Other characters most certainly will come up over and over again, but their function will only be for the purposes of the progression of the Mary and Matthew arc. So, will we learn more about Anna and Bates? Will Isobel's death and involvement in Quinn's life ever be brought up again? What about Mary's parent's? I'm simply not sure yet. Only time will tell **

**I know a lot of you wanted to see an uncomfortable moment between Mary and Matthew when Quinn's teacher mistook them for husband and wife, and I tried to write that bit of humor in, but I simply couldn't make it fit. Every time I tried to put it in somewhere, it felt unnatural and I didn't want to disrupt the story line by trying to force something. So lets all just assume together that there was some confusion, and imagine that both and Mary and Matthew enjoyed the idea more than they should have. Mary would have fidgeted in her seat, and Matthew would have turned a lovely shade of red, and it would have been extremely difficult for them not to look at one another. **

**I'll get to work on the next chapter in a couple days. I've had this Birthday chapter planned ever since I stared writing this story, and I'm very excited/nervous to try to tackle it. Matthew and Rick will met, Matthew will give Mary a very sentimental gift, less than virtuous dancing will commence, and a drunken confession will be made in the early morning hours.**

**My aim is to open you up. Did I succeed? Let me know.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Finally an update! I apologize for the delay I sincerely hope that you continue to enjoy my story. There is a lot that I really love about this chapter and several things that I really hate, but I'm giving up and posting without another moment's delay.**

**WARNING!- I didn't have a beta reader for this chapter so I apologize in advance for errors. I hope they don't ruin the chapter for you.**

**I've changed the rating of this story from T to M for this chapter, but don't get too excited, I did it for language and subject. **

**Please notice that this chapter is part 1…part 2 will follow.**

…

_Part I._

Matthew quickly ran his hands against his scalp, calming his nerves and styling his disheveled hair in the same movement. The blackened city sky was outside his window and he breathed very deeply once before turning to face the two women who sat, side-by-side, on the edge of his bed.

"So…" he held his arms out to his sides, giving them a clear view, "…how do I look?"

"Handsome," said the child with a smile.

"Uncomfortable," said the woman with a snicker.

Matthew let his arms drop dejectedly and he looked away from them, gazing down at his ensemble, "But…this is what everyone is wearing in the fashion magazines."

"But you look so uncomfortable."

He pulled at his sleeves, "I read over and over that layers are in."

"But…can you even move?"

He adjusted his tie, "…It's a little tight in the arms."

She laughed once, "I thought so. How many layers do you have on?"

Besides his jeans and artistically scuffed boots, Matthew was currently wearing a double breasted charcoal grey leisure jacket, over a wool cardigan, which hung open over a black waistcoat, behind which rested a loosely knotted tie, and then, finally, a buttoned and checkered Oxford and forgotten undershirt.

He shrugged his shoulders, trying to mask his embarrassment, "…Just a few."

She laughed again and pulled the girl onto her lap who was now giggling along with her, "You're a horrible liar, Matthew."

His normally strong and deep voice sounded more like the frustrations of a confused child, "But…I basically copied this from a something that what's-his-face was wearing on the front of last month's _GQ_."

Her smile widened, "You know the whole point of those magazines is to sell clothes? So, the more layers, the more money you spend."

He massaged his brow, trying to sooth the tension that was building there, "Thank you, but I am very well versed on business and marketing practices."

Matthew looked down at his outfit that he had spent hours researching and let a small sound of disappointment and frustration leave his lungs.

It had been a long, long time since Matthew had a casual night out with people his own age and he found himself desperately nervous to fit the part. He didn't want to look like a widower, or a multi-millionaire, or even a businessman and lawyer; he just wanted to look like an average twenty-nine year old living in the heart of The Second City. So, for the past few weeks he had flipped through _GQ's_ and _Men's Fashion_, and scrolled through hundreds of different fashion blogs searching for the picturesque vision of a casually well-dressed man.

Matthew wasn't the type of person who normally obsessed over his outwards appearance. On the contrary in fact, he happily lived his life switching only from simple cotton pajamas to suits that someone else had designed for him. But, for some unknown reason, he's been fixated on what he would wear ever since Sybil invited him out three weeks ago. It was completely out of character to waste both time and effort, only in the name of fashion, but had been obsessed with it.

Perhaps, it was because on this night, when so much would be new and out the realm of his normal life, the garments that clung to his body was the one thing he had complete control over.

Therefore, seeing the lack of awe on the woman's face before him, Matthew couldn't help but feel disappointed that his hard work had not paid off.

The woman spoke again, her eyes examining his outfit from where she sat perched on his bed, "What look were you exactly going for?"

He let out a single humorless laugh, "Just…" he fiddled with a silver button on his jacket, "…casual street fashion."

She must have read his disappointment, "Don't get me wrong Matthew, you look great." She looked at the girl on her lap, "As Quinn said, you look handsome…"

"Handsome!" Quinn cut her off with another excited giggle.

The woman smiled at the child again, "That's right—Handsome." She looked back up at him, "But we are going for a night on the town. You're going to want to be comfortable more than anything else." She paused and ran her eyes over his many layers once more, "Have you forgotten how hot clubs are?

He gave her a knowing look, "It's been a while since I've been in a club, Anna."

"I know." Anna smiled back at him, "Well let me remind you—It get's hot, really hot, in clubs, Matthew."

Matthew was pleased that Anna had stopped calling him Mr. Crawley in the past few months. He considered her a close friend, perhaps even his closest friend considering what she had witnessed and endured along side him over the past years, and he was happy the old formality of titles and position were slowly fading away.

Anna continued speaking, a small smile still on her lips, "And it's even hotter in clubs when you're dancing."

"Oh." Matthew suddenly found some of his old confidence, "I _won't_ be dancing tonight. I'll happily watch everyone else, but _I_ will not be participating."

Anna replied, her voice just as confident as his had been, "I'll get you to dance."

"No." He denied it.

"Yeah." She stated the fact.

He shook his head silently.

She nodded in reply, "This is happening…it's best if you just accept it now."

He again shook his head, trying to ignore Quinn's third round of giggling.

"You _are _dancing with me, Matthew." She smiled at him, knowing that she had him beat, "So, you better loose those layers because you're not ruining my dress by sweating on it."

Matthew looked down at his failed outfit again and sighed once more, "Well, da—" he remembered his daughter in the room, "I mean…dang it." He looked back at Anna and his voice echoed his frustration, "What am I suppose to wear now?"

Anna must have read his nervousness and agitation because she suddenly became thoughtful and her words were calming, "It's alright, we'll get it figured out… a lot of times, less is more."

She lifted Quinn from her lap and stood to look at him more closely. Anna adjusted her violet colored cocktail dress and jet-black blazer as she stood and walked towards him on a pair of ink colored stiletto heels. She looked beautiful, perhaps even sexy, but Matthew could never look at her that way; Anna was like the younger sister he never had. In fact, as she came towards him and Matthew saw how the dress clung to her every dip and curve, he felt the urge to cover her up so that men wouldn't be able gawk at her tonight.

Perhaps he would have to dance with her tonight, just so that others couldn't.

Anna studied him for a moment before indicting his jacket and asking, "What are you wearing under that?"

Matthew opened his jacket further, showing the layers underneath, "A sweater…" he pulled at the waistcoat, "…this vest, thing… and an Oxford."

"No, I meant under the Oxford."

Matthew's confusion was evident in his response, "Just a plain v-neck."

"What color is it?"

"What?"

"What color is the v-neck? White? Grey? Black?"

"I think it's navy blue."

"How does it fit?"

"What?"

Anna widened her eyes and stomped her foot impatiently, her frustration with him getting the best of her, "How does the v-neck fit you, Matthew? Is it too loose? Too tight?"

"It's alright; fitted but not skin-tight."

Anna clapped her hands together loudly, making Matthew jump, "Perfect! Take off everything else but the leave on the V-neck." She moved away from him and sat down next to Quinn on the edge of his bed again, "You can leave on the boots and the jeans too."

Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes at Anna before turning towards his bathroom, frustrated with himself that he had wasted so much time researching his failed outfit.

"And Matthew," he stopped and turned back to Anna, who was still studying him again from the short distance, "You can leave the jacket on too…" She smiled at him, perhaps knowing that he craved some praise for his efforts to look the part tonight, "… it _really_ does make you look handsome."

"Handsome!" Quinn added again, her excitement too much to contain.

Matthew smiled at Anna and gave a quick wink to his daughter, who burst into another round of joyful laughter.

…

Twenty minutes later, Matthew and Anna sat side-by-side in the comfort of his Range Rover as they navigated through the busy weekend traffic of downtown Chicago. The colors of the city were the essence of contradiction—the dark shadows of the night and the bright beams of light spilling from opened windows and doors, soft and warm glows and loud and sharp neon's.

The world outside was bustling and congested, but the interior of Matthew's car was relaxing and quiet.

…Perhaps, too quiet.

The silence and comfort were painful and Matthew had nothing to distract himself from the nervousness that was bubbling uncontrollably in his gut.

His nerves were on high alert and, despite his now simplified clothing, a light sheen of sweat covered his brow. He twitched and moved uncomfortably in his leather seat, his building agitation getting the best of him. Matthew's knuckles were white as he strangled the steering wheel in front of him, and he continuously adjusted his body, wringing his neck from side to side and reposition his posture, but no matter how much he sought a degree of comfort, he was unable to settle in and relax.

"Nervous?"

He gave a quick glance at Anna who offered him a small, warm smile.

Matthew took a moment to painstakingly loosen his vice-like grip on the wheel. His mouth was sticky and dry, and his voice was small with his worry, "It's just…been a long time."

Anna only responded by nodding her head once, knowing, perhaps all too well, about the years that Matthew has spent cooped up in clouds, rarely leaving his glass tower for anything other than work.

It had been nearly four years now.

It had been nearly four rotations around the sun since his wife had passed.

It had been nearly four years since Matthew had gone out for an evening with his peers, and he found himself desperately nervous to fit into the mold of how he should conduct himself. Did social cues change in his absence? Would he still be able to related to others? Would he be an outsider due to his years spent in seclusion?

…Would they see the selfish act that claimed his wife for an early grave written in his eyes?

However, his uneasiness was not only due to his many years spent in morning and social isolation, but also, in part to the woman that permanently lived behind his eyelids.

With every blink, Matthew would see an ivory form in the blackness of his closed eyes—Mary.

He was nervous to meet more of her friends and family. His encounter with Sybil had gone extremely well, but he was anxious over the idea of meeting the others that knew her best; especially Mary's other sister, Edith, and her long-time, live-in boyfriend.

Matthew's grip tightened again at the mere thought of the later. Tonight would be the night when Matthew would finally meet a man whom he already couldn't stand to be near. Tonight would be the night when he would have to smile and nod and attempt to make friendly chatter with a man that currently slept next to the woman that owned everything that was left of him.

The idea was a bitter pill to swallow. It got stuck in his throat and obstructed his breathing. Just the simple thought of their wrapped arms and entwining legs made Matthew physically sick.

But he mustn't show his contempt. He mustn't reveal that tonight, or ever. He mustn't be outwardly rude or hostile towards the man that Mary loved; Matthew adored her too much for that.

In addition, to the crippling nervousness, a swarm of excited butterflies were also at play in Matthew's core.

He had been so looking forward to seeing Mary in a different setting. He was eager to watch her engage with the people she cared about, and he wanted to be with her in a place outside of their shared norm. They had acquired a natural rhythm with one another inside the walls of The Pearl, but Matthew was excited for the chance to see her cast in a different light.

He longed to know every facet of her. He desired to learn and memorize every bit and piece of her. She was his favorite book and he wanted to thumb through her pages, discovering her every chapter, her every line and word, her every letter and thought.

He wanted to know her…just as she now knew him.

Matthew had hidden the truth inside for so long that when it finally broke through, when he finally confessed everything to her, it spilled from him aggressively. It gushed from his soul and burst from his mouth, draining him in the agonizing process.

The night Matthew broke apart in the shadow of her body, Mary gave him new reason to adore her; more fuel for his notebook.

Mary had held those pieces of him, those violent demons and those jagged edges, so tenderly and so selflessly. She had shouldered the burden that he had passed to her without uttering a single complaint. She had stared into the heart of the storm that he became and she did not waver under the untamed elements.

She held the truth for him, because he could no longer endure it alone.

The truth of his wife; the truth of his son.

His son…

His lost second child was something that Matthew had hid so carefully and so completely for such a long time, that on some occasions, he could almost convinced himself that it had never happened; that his boy had never been.

But the truth would creep up on him from time to time. It would make its painful reappearance, wrecking his body and infecting his mind. The truth often leaked into his semi-conscious, invading him in the night, attaching itself to the delicate line between waking and dreaming. His soul would conjure up and his dreaming eyes would see the face of an unknown boy. Some part of his mind would know that it was only a hallucination, but Matthew would be unable to wake his body. He was paralyzed in the night against the child's face. Matthew would feel his drugged body fight against the image, twitching and tensing in the debilitating coma of sleep, but the image of the boy would not fade. So Matthew would have to endure the vision, to watch the boy that never was, live a life that never came. He would have to bare it, counting down the agonizing moments when his body would finally revolt against the assault of so much pain, dragging open eyelids, gasping for air, drenched in sweat.

Some part of him had reached its limit that night three weeks ago. His heart, silent for too long, reached its final threshold and Matthew tumbled over the edge violently. His fragile body fell, collapsing head over heals, crashing and burning, breaking painfully against his long hidden memories and bitter realities.

His anguish had trumped him, and the truth spilled from his mouth in an unfiltered, dirty mess.

He had been out of control and broken, sobbing for his wife, sobbing for his lost child, sobbing because his confession would only make Mary leave him. Matthew knew the day would turn over, he knew time would pass, he knew the night would come, and he knew the truth of his past would drive her away.

But he still confessed. He uncovered his filthy soul for her to see. He let her know the shameful details and he shined a light on the things that had fallen through the cracks, because Matthew loved her enough to be truthful; Even if it meant losing her forever.

It was terrifying to be that exposed to her. He had felt more than naked. But he surrendered control and floated in suspension, wanting to die in the warmth of her body but fighting to survive long enough to feel the release of her next exhale.

His body and mind were at war; his mind wanted to keep his long held secrets but his lips let them fall freely into the empty air, his mind wanted to collapse in shame, his legs rooted him to the ground before her.

Thankfully, Mary's arms took from him the overwhelming weight, and she gave back what he needed most, and the entwining of their bodies settled the dispute.

…

_She moved towards him. Her dark eyes rimmed with the wetness of his grief, her lips trembling with the burden she had never asked to bear, the blood in her checks matched the setting sun outside of his window, and Mary had never looked more beautiful to him than she did in these silent seconds of space and time._

_Mary enclosed him in the curves of her body, fastening him to her, holding him up right, supporting him in more than just the physical sense. Bits of him continued to spill over her arms and fall haphazardly around their entwined feet, but she paid no attention to his brokenness, she only held him tight; she only held him together. _

_The pressure—the freeing pressure of her embrace, was a weight that made Matthew light. _

_The scent of her filled his nose and lungs, enriching his body, bring oxygen to his brain and making his blood a deeper shade of red; a red that matched her quivering lips, a red that matched the marks her hungry hands made in his flesh. Mary's fingertips and palms left burning and blistering marks over every inch of his back, illustrating the snaking maze she traveled. Matthew was on fire by her hands, never before knowing that burning alive could be such a savage pleasure. _

_He memorized the feel of her curves pressed against him, learning her softness and the layers of her bones. He suffocated in the curtain of her ink colored hair, wanting to drown in the black waves, tasting rose buds, vanilla beans, and brown sugar. _

_Her breathing was even in his ear, the rhythm full and strong, although, when his hands traveled lower, cupping the dip at her back and resting on the edge of her hips, the even pattern of her inhales changed, becoming labored and rushed, portraying a longing in her that was not lost on him._

_He pressed her tighter to his body, wanting to know the shape of her ribs as the curving bars dug sweetly into his own waist. He wanted to count her vertebrae; numbering and naming the disks that supported the weight of them both. He wanted to measure the circumference of her lungs as they filled with the air that she stole from his body._

_But nothing, nothing could compare to line of her ivory neck. How could a root of flesh be so lovely? Never had Matthew experienced such a temptation; such concentration of her scent, such a warmth, such a sight to behold in the dimness of the setting sun. Her flesh was polarized, a magnet calling to him, urging him to connect, to settle there. It would be easy to caress the delicate flesh, to move into the inches of unexplored air, to lightly press his trembling lips against her jugular, against her veins. He longed to test the softness of her skin, to truly know whether God made her cells out of silk, but surely the sweetness of it would break his legs._

_He could hold Mary for the rest of his days and consider it a life well spent._

_Matthew had slept in his suit that evening, her scent clinging to his body and transferring to his sheets, warding off his demons for the night. He had awoken refreshed, his shirt and pants creased and matted with the evidence of her. He took his coffee on his personal patio that morning, and as he bent to inhale the air around his own shoulder, wanting to his fill lungs again with what remained of her there, Matthew found a single strand of her dark hair. A tremble broken from his lips and he reveled in the knowledge that a piece of her had clung to him throughout the night. _

_Matthew delicately held the dark line in his fingers and watched in amazement as the cool morning sun reflected off of it, turning the blackness to plums and amber. A sudden burst of wind snatched it from his fingers, and Matthew reached for it once, grasping the air for the delicate strand of her, but his clutched hand came back empty and heavy._

_He mourned the loss for a moment, before deciding that she belonged best in the cool, dancing wind, as it softly caressed his face and fitted perfectly around his body. _

_Mary belonged best in the untamed heavens._

…

Anna's voice brought him back. Back to the present, back to his car, back to the busy traffic around them, "So, what did you get her?"

Anna indicated the small gift bag in the back seat that Matthew had placed next to Anna's wrapped package.

"Oh…" he looked at the blue bag in his rearview mirror momentarily before returning his eyes to the road, "…it's nothing."

Anna laughed before asking, "Is it really nothing? Or is it 'Matthew Crawley nothing'?" She etched the quotes in the air.

Matthew turned towards her questioningly, "What's the difference?"

She tilted her head, giving him a knowing look, "Matthew, last Christmas you gave me and Elsie each a $9,000 watch and insisted that they were 'nothing'."

"Don't you like them?"

Ann rolled her eyes and said with another laugh, "Of course we like them, but I'm just saying that your definition of 'nothing' is very different from the rest of the worlds."

Matthew cocked an eyebrow back at her, "Well, for your information, I didn't spend a dime on her."

Anna was taken aback, her silence portraying her surprise.

Matthew continued on, "I'm just giving her a book that I've had for a long time…it's one of her favorites and its just been sitting on my shelf for years."

Another eye roll was Anna's only response and Matthew spoke again, pointing to her own golden wrapped package in the back, "And what are you getting her?"

She adjusted her seat, crossing one bare leg over another, "Oh, I just made her a couple mix CDs."

"Oh! How sweet!" Matthew's words were drench in sarcasm but Anna punched him once in the arm, making him quickly shut up.

"It is sweet! Or it's at least thoughtful. We have the same taste in music but she has even less time than I do to discover new stuff, so I made her a couple playlists of my favorites."

His curiosity was peaked, "What's on it?"

"A lot of mellow stuff; soft indie rock and singer/songwriters mostly." Anna indicated several pubs outside of the car's window, and Matthew saw how many already had long lines of people pouring out of their doors, "Nothing like the house music or hip-hop they'll be playing wherever we end up tonight."

They came to a red light and Matthew pulled the car to a stop. A touch of his sarcasm returned but he masked it with a wide smile in her direction, "A playlist—how romantic of you Anna."

Anna laughed again, "Yeah, well I'm not ashamed to admit that I love her…although…"

Anna's voice trailed off and the car was suddenly doused in a heavy, sticky silence. Matthew looked over at her and saw Anna staring at him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. There was only the quiet humming of his car's idling engine as Anna's eyes continued to search his own, her peering gaze sending a chill of unknown dread down his spine. Her brow was crinkled with worry and Matthew knew she measuring her next words, considering them with great care and judgment.

Eventually Anna decided and her deep intake of breath broke up the silence around them, "Although, I know I love Mary in a very different way then… then the way _you _love her, Matthew."

The world was heavy; it made of lead, and rock, and sand, and the weight of his expanding heart, which throbbed to the rhythm of her name.

Matthew's first instinct was to deny it. But he couldn't; the feel of Mary's body pressed against his own was still too fresh, a constant reminder of his never-ending threshold of love. He then battled against a powerful feeling of betrayal. He wanted to be angry with the woman to his right for seeing so clearly something he considered to be his most precious of secrets. But he couldn't; Anna was too dear a friend. He then wanted to wish away the truth of Anna's words, to trade them away for something else, something that could actually be. But he couldn't; he wouldn't trade away the sensation of loving Mary for all of the apathy in the world. He then wanted to escape, to leave the car, to leave the city, to run away with truth. But he couldn't; their minutes were numbered and he _had_ to be with her while he still could.

The traffic light was still red and Matthew gazed at the small scarlet sun, wishing that it could burn through his retina.

A warm acceptance eventually brushed across his cheek and Matthew suddenly could remember her smell—rose buds, vanilla beans, and warm brown sugar.

When Matthew had held her, he finally understood the purpose of his own body. His arms were meant to wrap around her, to hold and rest, to press and secure. His legs were built walk towards her, to stand beside her. His chest was created to breathe her in, his lungs overflowing with the sweetness of her, expanding and growing, adjusting and swelling; filled with oxygen but still breathless in her company. His eyes were meant to focus and fade; focus on the small lines covering her curving lips, focus on her ink lashes, focus on the color of cream and roses; fade away and blur into nothingness everything that was not her. His hands were covered with nerves only so that he would know the pleasure of her silk skin and thick, feather hair.

And is lips…his lips had not yet fulfilled their true purpose, but they soon would

Matthew knew that he was created to love her. He was drawn up and fitted with legs and arms, with feet and hands, only so that he would be able embrace her, and understand that to hold her, was to hold the one he freely passed his heart to.

Why wish away such a beautiful gift? Why run from something that he only wanted to sprint towards? Why deny such an undeniable truth?

So he didn't.

The light turned green and his foot gently found the accelerator, pulling him towards the woman he loved.

When he spoke, Matthew's voice was measured and soft and brave, "How long have you known?"

He heard Anna's relieved exhale and wondered how long she had been holding her breath. She matched her quiet tone to his, "It's been a while now… I've seen it…growing in you for weeks and weeks."

"Does Elsie know?"

"I think so. Some times she says certain things that makes me think that she does…but we don't talk about it."

"Does Mary know?"

Anna paused, and Matthew heard her thickly shallow. Eventually, she spoke and her voice was small with her anxiety, "Yes. I think so, but she's denying it."

He expected to feel his panic return but it didn't. Matthew breathed in Anna's words and let it swish around his brain, a deeper acknowledgment of his own feelings the only outcome.

Anna spoke again, "I think she does realize your feelings towards her, but she's denying the full truth of them. She's hiding it from herself…like she's too scared to deal with the effects."

Matthew felt scattered and he longed to fill the small black notebook in his jacket pocket with the feelings he was currently unable to sort out in his mind.

"I'm sorry if I'm crossing some line as your employee, or even as your friend, but I just wanted you to know that…I'm worried, Matthew."

Matthew looked at her briefly and saw the evidence of her concern smeared across her features, "Of course, I'm not worried about your character or even about her, she's so lovely inside and out and what she's done with Quinn has been amazing… but I'm worried about what," Anna indicated the air that hovered around his trapped body, "all of this, will do to you both…She's in a relationship, a serious relationship with someone that she's been with for a long time. And you're…"

His eyes were heavy and he knew what her next words would be but he asked anyway, "I'm what?"

Matthew again turned to look at Anna. She breathed deeply and her bright eyes were only filled with her concern for him, "You're still _so_ haunted Matthew…"

He looked away, back to the road, and nodded slowly in agreement.

Anna continued on, speaking quicker than she had before, "It's just that seeing you with Lavina for all of those years and then seeing how you collapsed in on yourself when she died, carrying the weight of a thousand men and aging lifetimes in the span of a few months. I just…I just never thought you'd ever love any other woman again."

She said her last words with a since of finality and spoke no more. The only sound in the night was that of the car's humming engine and tires, their tread forming around the cracked pavement beneath them.

Matthew thought of his late wife. He thought about how her smile would brake across her face, and how she laughed with her whole body, and how angry she got when others showed their self-imposed ignorance and prejudice, and how she would softy cry when reading a book or seeing a random act of kindness on the news.

He thought of their short time together and then he reflected on the past four years without her.

He thought of how disappointed in him she would be. How angry she would be for how he had chosen to live his life in her absence. No matter what part he had unintentionally played in her early death, she would have never, _never_ wanted him to be so burdened by his guilt. She would have never wanted him to be so miserably sad without her, because she had never caused a moments sorrow in her whole life.

Matthew found his voice. It grew warm in his chest and fell softly from his mouth.

"You're right. I did love my wife, Anna. And if we would have been blessed with a long marriage, and if we would have had the chance to grow old together, I would have loved her, and her alone, until the very end…"

He heard the sounds of his past; he heard crunching metal and a fading heart monitor.

"But life didn't work out that way for us; life took a different route. I lost Lavina. I lost my wife and I've spent the better part of four years morning her death…nearly losing the best part of both of us in the process."

Matthew thought of his daughter; her resurrected smile, her rediscovered laugh.

Matthew's grip grew tight on the wheel again and he fought, tooth and nail, against his ever-present demons. His voice became harsh and strained, "But I'm tired of living under the weight of my past sins. I'm sick of being paralyzed against the mistakes of my past and I want to live this blessing of a life!"

The demons fought back against him. They scratched at his skin and tried to seep into his mind. They showed him images of his broken wife, images of his lost son, images of his struggling daughter.

But Matthew fought back. He gritted his teeth and strangled the wheel, the tendons and veins in his hands bulging with the effort to convince himself of his awakening, "And I _knew_ my wife…" His voice cracked but he continued to press on, "I _knew_ her!" He slammed a fist on the wheel, emphasizing the truth, "and she would want me to be happy…I know that. Some days will be harder than others and I know sometimes I'll slip up and fall, but Lavina would want me keep on trying. She'd want me to be happy."

And Matthew demons fell away, leaving his body, leaving his mind, crawling back into the darkness of the night.

He took several calming breaths before turning towards Anna, "So, you're right. I couldn't possibly love any other woman again, and I don't love _any_ woman…"

Matthew thought of Mary, her passion, her tenacity, her abundance of life and vivacity. He thought of her warmth pressed against him and the breath of life that she had given him.

Her image calmed him and Matthew's next words came from him with such conviction and such passion, that no one on earth could have denied the truth of them.

"…But I _do_ love Mary. I love her because she opened my eyes and nursed my wounds. I love her because she helped me regain the feeling in my legs and she taught me how to walk back into my daughter's life."

Matthew laughed, a single hysterical laugh and met Anna's eye, "So, I love her…I love her and I'll never disturb her happiness with another man if that is what she wants but I can't stop loving her, Anna."

He turned back to the road, "I can't stop…I wouldn't even know how."

It was a relief to say those things allowed; to confess his hearts desires to another human. Matthew felt Anna's eyes linger on him but he couldn't turn to look at her again.

Several more streetlights came and went above them but the silence in the car remained, until they rolled to a stop on a street lined with other cars, the windshield in front of them glowing with the bright haze of neon.

Matthew shut off the engine and felt his nervousness return to him now that they were within the shadow of their final destination. He breathed deeply, gathering himself for whatever he would encounter inside.

Anna unfastened her seatbelt and Matthew heard it slowly coil.

"Ok."

Matthew turned to look at her, seeing the understanding in her eyes, "Ok. I believe you." She smiled at him warmly, "Just try not to get yourself hurt."

He smiled back at her, "I'll try…but even if I do get hurt…" Matthew leaned forward reading neon lights of the sign in front of them— _Mr. Bates_,"…it'd be worth it."

Anna opened her door and Matthew followed her. The night was clean and crisp, and the sounds of Lincoln Park, of cars, people, and music, filled his ears.

Anna retrieved their gifts from the back seat handing the small blue bag to Matthew and adjusting her dress before turning to him and asking, "Are you ready?"

He exhaled loudly, hoping to pull the worry from his body. The attempt was unsuccessful, "I guess I have to be…please don't let me do anything stupid."

Anna laughed loudly, "Oh no! I haven't had a night out in a long time either and I plan on having a ridiculously great time. You're on your own."

It was cruel act of fate that the first thing he should see when entering into the busy bar was the soft line of Mary's neck being kissed by another.

It was a quiet moment between Mary and the man at her side, a stolen moment that was meant to be private and intimate even in the vastness of the room and the congestion of people, but Matthew had seen the secret perfectly from where he stood just inside the door.

He felt his heart concave and crumple in his chest and the desire to bolt out of the door before anyone could spot him returned full force. Matthew was healing but he wasn't ready for something like this yet; the image before his eyes attacked him and wounded him in his softest parts.

Mary's boyfriend continued to drop small, fluttering kisses up her neck, his mouth coming closer and closer to her ear, a single long arm wrapped around her, pulling her body closer and closer to his lips. The man moved the black curtain of her hair, revealing the same ear that Matthew had quietly spoken into three weeks ago when he had half-heartedly warned her to stay away from him. The man whispered to Mary something unknown before continuing to lay more retreating kisses back down her exposed neck.

Matthew felt sick, defeated, and enraged in equal measure. He drug his eyes away from the man's progression, pulling them to the face of the woman he adored. Mary's beauty was unprecedented in the soft glow of the room and the sight of her flushed skin knocked the wind from him. A small smile was curved upon her lips and her chest rose and fell with her soft laughter.

However, as Matthew got a deeper look at Mary, noticing her wide, lifeless eyes and the slanting, contorted angle of her body, Matthew thought Mary's movements and responses to the man looked unnatural and forced, but, perhaps, that was just the way he wished to see them.

The room was loud, the music was loud, and Matthew's struggling heart was loud.

Matthew fixed his eyes on the Mary, calling to her wordlessly across the bar. He willed her to look at him, to pull away from the man she was pressed against, and cling to him instead. But she didn't hear his silent call and the man pulled her closer and as Mary turned her head to place a quick kiss of on the man's pursed lips, Matthew's heart stopped beating altogether.

Anna must have seen his panic and apprehension because she grabbed on one of his jacket lapels and dragged him across the room, and they were in front of Mary before Matthew could pull away and run.

He came to stand four feet in front of her and she was lovely in the dark, dancing shadows of the room. Her dark hair was down and soft, fuller than normal with natural looking waves. Her sleeveless top matched her painted lips and Matthew thought it should be illegal for her to wear this particular shade of red; it was the color of wine and Matthew discovered that he was desperately thirsty. A chain of gold was tight around her neck, her eyes were lined a little darker than normal, and the over-all effect of her appearance was mesmerizing.

Mary was one of seven others and her small group sat around a circular table already littered with dirtied and stacked plates, scattered and empty food containers, broken and stained chop-sticks, drained shot-glasses, and an impressive number of drained beer bottles, which were being stacked into a glass pyramid in front of an unknown dark-haired man.

Perhaps it was the subtle stirring of the air around her, or perhaps it was the slight variation of the sound waves assaulting her ears, or perhaps it was the feel of his cool shadow as it came to rest across her lap, but, no matter the reason, Mary sensed his presence and she slowly looked away from the man at her side.

Their eyes settled and fell into place in an easy and practiced way and the world was a wonderful place to be again.

Mary extracted herself from the man at her side, moving away and separating herself, a ghost of something akin to shame highlighting her features. The shame lingered for only a moment longer before a brilliant smile tore up her face and ignited her dark eyes.

"You're here." She spoke the words loudly over the music and crowd, her full lips moving around the brilliant smile that remained on her wine colored lips.

Matthew's mouth formed into a full smile in response and, for the moment, every memory of her being loving kissed by another fell from his mind. How could he possibly think of her being wrapped up in another man, when she looked at him like she was now?

"Happy Birthday." His reply was soft, as soft as he remembered her skin to be those weeks ago.

Mary's smile fell slightly but the heat in her eyes intensified and brightened, her gaze reducing him to a puddle in the shape of a man.

"Yeah, Happy Birthday Mary!" He had forgotten Anna at his side.

Anna moved around the table towards Mary, and she stood to embrace her.

Mary laughed slightly uncomfortably, portraying her embarrassment at being the center of attention, even on her birthday.

She spoke a little breathlessly, "Thanks so much for coming out tonight." She looked back at Matthew momentarily before turning toward Anna again, "Sorry that you missed dinner though." She indicted the empty carryout containers scattered across the table, "Bates doesn't have a kitchen but you can order in, so Napier bought everyone Oriental Spoon, which has the best Korean in the city."

Anna just smiled at her, "No sorry we're late. Matthew had a late meeting with a client and I didn't want to leave without him. Plus we've already eaten."

Matthew knew that Anna was lying about eating dinner to spare Mary's feelings and foresaw himself buying her a questionable dinner from a street vendor later in the night.

Mary glanced back at him once more, "Oh, good," she looked relieved before turning towards the group of people that surrounded her, "Well, let me introduce you both to everyone."

Anna came back to stand at Matthew's side as Mary indicated the man at the edge of the table to her left. The man was dark-haired and was carefully placing another empty beer bottle on the half constructed tower in front of him, "That's Napier at the end. We've gone through both undergrad and grad school together."

Napier looked to be a little further along in his drinking than the rest of the group and he lifted a beer bottle in Anna's direction, paying no attention to Matthew, "How's it going beautiful?"

Matthew could almost hear Anna and Mary roll their eyes.

Mary spoke to her, "Don't pay any attention to him. He thinks he's really hot but once he gets over that delusion, he's actually really sweet."

Mary then indicated the familiar smiling face next to Napier, "You both of course know Sybil," Sybil gave Matthew a small smirk and a quick, knowing wink, "…and next to her is our friend Jimmy."

A tired-looking but handsome blonde man stood to shake both Matthew and Anna's hands, "Hey. It's nice to meet you both." His smile was friendly and his grasp was firm.

Mary spoke again, smiling at Jimmy, "He was my neighbor for years and would constantly come over and eat my food and watch my TV, but now Ed and Sybil have the pleasure of feeding him."

Jimmy smiled back at Mary, "At least I'm always grateful."

Mary skipped over introducing the man who sat directly beside her and turned toward her right, pointing to the two women at the other end of the table.

"This is Gwen" Mary indicated the woman directly to her right. Gwen's hair was dark auburn and every inch of her exposed skin was dotted with freckles. She gave Matthew and Anna each a small wave and a large smile.

Mary continued, "She works with Ed and is about the nicest most and most genuine person that has ever walked the earth, which is why it's so confusing that she hangs out with Edith by choice."

Matthew then heard Mary's deep intake of breath and felt the apprehension in her corresponding exhale. He followed the line of Mary's sharp glare and let his eyes side over to the woman who sat to the right of Gwen.

"…And this…"

The fair-haired woman stared back at Matthew forcefully. Her eyes were not harsh or angry but they held a weight that made it feel as if she were x-raying him. She was dressed mostly in dark colors that were in direct contrast to her pale skin and light brown eyes. An unlit cigarette dangled between her fingers on her left hand and a small tumbler containing rich colored liquid on ice was grasped securely in her right.

"…is my other sister Edith, but everyone calls her Ed."

Matthew knew that he should have smiled at Edith in a friendly manner, but her hard eyes felt like she was administering a test, and, if he were break into a smile, he would have failed her exam.

"Edith…" Matthew heard the irritation and embarrassment in Mary's voice, "…play nice."

Eventually, a small smirk reached the corner of Ed's mouth and her eyes softened by degrees.

"It's nice to meet you Matthew." She lifted the tumbler to her lightly painted lips and took a deep pull of the amber liquor. "I've heard _so_ much about you."

Matthew saw Mary roll her eyes this time and he watched as she turned back to the slightly older man who sat silently beside her.

Mary looked down at the man, but he did not return her gaze. His eyes were fixed and sharp, staring a blistering hole through Matthew. Her boyfriend still had an arm resting on the back of Mary's empty chair, claiming his territory, and his other hand was clenched in a tight fist on the table in front of him, portraying his irritation.

Mary reached out and placed an open hand on his shoulder, trying to calm the obvious tension that radiated through the man's body.

"And this is my boyfriend, Rick."

Rick's deep-set eyes were the color of murky ice and his long face was carved, cracked, and weathered. There was no doubt that he was a handsome man, even with his slightly receding, light-colored hair, but he looked so out of place in this younger crowd of people while dressed in his cabled sweater and tweet jacket.

Mary spoke to the crowd again, her voice a little strained with the effort to screen the angry tension radiating form the man at her side, "And, everyone… this is Anna and Matthew, who I work with…" she looked back at Matthew again and smiled a little sadly, "…and who I work for."

There was a random scattering of 'hello's' and 'how's it going's' from the small group and Matthew smiled and nodded at them all before returning his to eyes to Rick.

The smile fell from Matthew's lips and he felt his light eyes grow darker as Rick stiffly nodded once in Matthew's direction.

It went against everything that he believed in and everything that he longed to do, but Matthew took one painstaking step forward and reached his right hand across the table to the man at Mary's side. The man gazed at Matthew's outstretched hand with poorly disguised detest and Matthew understood from the sharp glare in Rick's eye and the hard line of his lips, that they not only shared a love for the same woman but, also, a mutual loathing of the other.

Rick eventually removed his hand from the back of Mary's chair and grasped Matthew's hand firmly. Matthew's muscles pulled and shortened as he tried to push out all of his contempt with the gesture. Rick responded with the same might, his veins bulging in his exposed hand and wrist, and Matthew knew the force they were each applying to the other's hand could shape steel.

They let go a moment later and he took pleasure in seeing how Rick flexed his hand gingerly, as Matthew tried with all of his might not to mimic him and relieve the stubborn pain radiating through his own sore digits.

"Wow!" Edith spoke, breaking up the tension. "I'm going to need another stiff drink after witnessing that show of testosterone."

"Edith!" Mary's irritation with her sister was growing, reaching the same level of contempt that Rick and Matthew shared for the other.

But Ed continued on with a dry laugh, "If there is a pissing contest later, please let me be the judge."

Tensions were high and Anna spoke up, offering the only medication that had a chance of levitating the stress, "How about I get the next round?" She looked at tower of empty bottles in front of Napier, "It looks like Bud Light is the general consensus…Ed, why don't you help me?"

Edith took another look at Mary, whose eyes were bulging out of her skull, before standing and putting her unlit cigarette back behind her ear, "Fine, but no one better throw any punches until I get back."

Matthew watched them saunter off towards the bar, heading in the direction of an older bartender who was smiling widely at Anna.

Matthew took the empty set next to Edith's vacated chair, directly across from Rick who continued to stare daggers at him.

Mary too returned to her seat and Matthew clearly saw the stress and worry distorting her perfect features. A flash of guilt warmed his skin and he immediately regretted wearing his dislike for her boyfriend so openly. Matthew was tired of causing her so much stress in her life. He had been a horrible father, a secretive employer, and his obvious feelings for her were causing her hardships in her relationship.

So he decided to try and elevate her stress. Matthew slid her birthday present underneath his chair, hoping for more of a private moment with her later, before fixing his eyes on his hands on his lap, knowing that if he looked Rick in the eye again his poor behavior would return.

"Rick…" his mouth was like cotton, "Mary tells me that you are a professor at DePaul, how is your fall semester getting on?"

Rick's response was straightforward and clipped, but not obviously unfriendly, "It's going well. I have three undergraduate classes and two graduate classes this year. It's keeping me busy."

"And in what area do you emphasize your research and study?"

"Mainly, policy and diplomacy concerning the rebuilding of Europe after the Great War and the Second World War."

Matthew caught Mary's appreciative smile out of the corner of his eye before continuing, "Any area specifically?"

"Berlin mostly, but I've extensively studied The Rhine area as well."

"That sounds like incredibly fascinating work."

"It is. I enjoy what I do." He lifted his arm and let it fall around the back of Mary's chair once again. "And I'll soon be given a full professorship where I'll make a very comfortable living. It's not enough money that would make one lazy," Matthew did not miss what Rick was implying, "but it will provide us…" he pulled Mary closer to his side, his grip on her arm was tight and unmoving, "…with a very comfortable future together."

Matthew's blood pressure dropped.

Hearing Rick speak of he and Mary's entwined futures with such assurance and certainty made Matthew realize, perhaps more than ever before, that his time with her was limited. He would have only until the end of her school year; he could almost hear the time slipping away. Matthew could have cursed himself for wishing away they past three weeks in anticipation of celebrating her birthday with her. He should have lived in and took note of every second spent in her presences, because one day in the near future, their seconds together would run out.

Matthew felt the lifelessness in his eyes, "May I offer you my early congratulations," and he heard the defeat in his voice.

He felt her eyes on him, prickling his skin and tugging at his chest.

Just then Anna and Edith returned from the bar, their arms overflowing with bottles of beer. Matthew grasped the bottle that Anna offered him just as he saw Rick pull Mary closer and whisper something else in her ear. Mary blushed slightly and turned away from Rick to glance fleetingly at Matthew. He must have been imagining the sadness in her eyes before he lifted the bottle to his lips and drained it with one breath.

By the time Matthew lowered the empty bottle to the table, the rest of their group were conversing with one another. Gwen had engaged Mary and Rick, and Anna, who had removed her blazer and taken the seat on Matthew's right, was in a four-way conversation with Jimmy, Sybil, and Napier.

"Here." Another beer bottle slid towards him from his left.

He looked up and saw Edith holding her own bottle out towards him. He picked up her offering and knocked the neck of his bottle with her's.

Edith spoke over the noise of the crowded bar, "Here is to birthdays and bad decisions."

Matthew gave her a broken smile and his respond was lifeless, "Cheers."

They each drained half of their bottles before guiding them back down to the table.

Matthew spoke, desperately wanting something to take his mind off of the way that Rick's fingertips lightly stroked the exposed flesh of Mary's shoulder, "And what do you do Edith?"

"Ew! I demand that you call me Ed. Mary and Sybil are the only ones that can call me that and not get physically assaulted…so, you've been warned."

He laughed despite of himself, "I wouldn't want to cross you."

"No you won't." She smirked at him before continuing, "I could smack my parents for naming me Edith. I truly want to believe that they lost a bet or something." She glanced around the bar, her eyes holding on a group of men by the door, "But at least I can get away with being called Ed…I love it actually. It's such a dude's name, and it really amplifies my bad-assery."

Matthew felt a real smile lift the corners of his mouth, "That it does."

Edith was rough and intimidating but not at all unlikeable. He found her dry humor and easy confidence to be immensely refreshing.

"OK, what do you do…," He lifted his bottle to her again, "…_Ed_?_"_ She smiled and responded and the dull crash of cheap glass reverberated around them again.

They each drank again before she responded, "I'm on the design team for Audi."

At this Matthew's interest was truly peaked and he leaned toward her, "Really? The first car I bought when I started practicing was an Audi… I loved that car."

"Yeah?" Edith took another drink and Matthew followed her example, emptying his second beer, "I've only been there for about eight months so I'm pretty low on the totem pole but it's a good job and they encourage creatively, so hopefully I'll be able to see some success."

"What models have you been in on?"

"The A6 mostly…" she finished her bottle with a final pull, "…and I came in on the very end of the Q7 and the Allroad."

His voice was building with his excitement, "Those are all fantastic…I've been looking into the Allroad." He glanced quickly at Mary, noticing with a bit of pleasure that she had pulled away from Rick's touch, leaning closer to Gwen. "I've been thinking of getting it for… someone special."

Edith waved him off, "Yeah, yeah, but I'm pissed at my boss at the moment and I really don't' want to talk about work when I'm trying to get drunk and have a good time." Edith looked at the group of men by the door again before glancing back at the small group in front of her, noticing how they all were still talking together before turning back to Matthew, "Well I'm going to need to have like ten more beers before I'm even feeling buzzed, so lets skip all of that bull-shit and do some shots instead."

Matthew turned slightly to look Mary wishing that he could have a moment alone with her, but she was wrapped in what Gwen was telling her and he knew that the night was still young.

He turned back to Ed, "Alright."

She tilted her head and gave him a mischievous smirk, "Your treat of course."

Matthew laughed once more before standing, "Lead the way."

Edith stood, made sure that her unlit cigarette was still secure behind her ear, grabbed two more full bottles of beer off of their table, and started walking towards the bar. Matthew trailed shortly behind her, but before he got too far away, and because he couldn't help but look back at her, Matthew glanced over his shoulder.

Their hearts brushed as their eyes came together. She had noticed his exit. Her brow was crinkled, a waterfall of small horizontal lines portraying her bewilderment about why he was walking away from her.

And though his affection for her was as sure as the spinning earth beneath his feet, Matthew found that he was slightly irritated with her. She was being so unjust; so unintentionally cruel. It was unfair for her to look at him like this. It was wrong for her to make him feel so guilty just for leaving her side. It was unfair, especially, when she was in the arms of another.

He turned away from her, the simple action requiring too much effort, and followed Edith to the bar.

"Here," Edith handed Matthew one of the two beers and a shot glass overflowing with a orange liquid, "I bought the first one."

Matthew sniffed the drink and it was summer time again. It smelled of overripe peaches, juicy oranges, and a sticky sweetness that reminded him of melting ice pops.

He lifted the small glass to her, "Cheers."

Edith glanced at the group of men by the door, and Matthew saw her wink at a dark haired man standing closest to them, "Once again, here is to a night of bad decisions. Cheers."

She clinked her glass to his and, just as Matthew lifted the moist cup to his lips, he heard Edith say, "I hope you like sex on the beach."

About half of the burning liquid went down the wrong pipe and Matthew's eyes watered as he tried to swallow what remained. His lungs and nose were on fire and his coughs were wet with alcohol. Eventually, the liquid heat slid the rest of the way down his throat and Matthew sputtered his response, "What?"

Edith was laughing, and the action made her more beautiful by degrees, "Relax Boy-Scout…it's the name of the drink."

Matthew blushed, feeling foolish, "Oh, right."

"Alright, now it's your turn to give me a slippery nipple."

He felt his face fall again.

"The shot! I'm telling you to buy me the shot!" She laughed harder.

"Oh…yeah, OK."

Edith jumped up and leaned forward, resting her entire upper body on the bar's sticky surface. Her legs were off of the ground, balancing her weight, and she turned her head to shout down length of the bar.

"Bates!"

Matthew leaned forward too, curious to see whom Edith was shouting for. He saw a man at the opposite end of the bar turn and give Edith an affectionate smile, before leaving a small group of other customers and making his way towards her. Matthew realized that this was the same man that had smiled at Anna earlier in the night. The man had a round and tired face but his eyes held a certain wisdom and warmth. His walk towards them was slow and heavy, portraying a slight limp in his gait.

When he reached them Bates gave a small nod to Matthew before turning to Edith, who had regained her normal seat, and spoke to her in an amused way.

"Yes Ed…what can I get for you?"

Edith turned in her seat and slapped Matthew, hard and square between his shoulder blades, "My friend here, Matty, will be buying the rest of my drinks," she turned and pointed over at their small party before turning back towards the man behind the bar, "…and everyone else's drinks at our table for the rest of the night…no matter the cost."

Matthew's back was still stinging from where Edith had slapped him and he saw Bates turns towards him, questioning Edith's words, but she spoke again before Matthew could respond.

"Isn't that right, Matty?" Her head was tilted slightly to the side, humor and challenge brightening her light-brown eyes.

Matthew rose to the challenge, "Yeah, that's right." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, his fingers brushing over the notebook that carried his love for the woman behind him, before retrieving his wallet.

Matthew pulled out a credit card and handed it freely over to Bates, who studied it for a moment before finding an empty black booklet and placing it on the counter behind him.

He turned and looked at Matthew, "What's it going to be?"

Matthew motioned toward Edith, deferring to her.

She spoke quickly while pulling the cigarette from behind her ear, her eyes, once again, on the dark-haired man, "How about three Slippery Nipples, three Blow Jobs, and three Royal Fucks."

Bates nodded and turned around, searching the shelves for the right bottles.

Matthew laughed, "How can you say those with a straight face?"

He saw her smile grow wider, her eyes still focused on something to their right and Matthew turned just in time to see the dark-haired man start walking towards them. Edith's eyes were on the approaching man and her voice was far away, "Oh, Matthew, I can do a lot of things with a straight face."

The man came to stand next to Matthew, towering over Edith whose bright smile turned dark and mysterious. Edith's suitor spoke, his voice deep but plain, "Could I bum a cigarette off of you?"

Edith spoke to him from under her lashes, and Matthew noticed how Ed was trying to give her voice the same mysterious purr that her older sister naturally had, "Sure. I was just going outside if you'd like to join me."

Ed's words were smooth and resent, but they didn't touch the power of Mary's spoken tongue. Mary's voice had the power to crawl under your skin and make your bones settle with a warm, delirious comfort. Mary's voice was all cords, and air, and lungs, and lips; a siren's song.

But Edith's invitation still had its desired effect on the unknown man and though Matthew didn't see him smile, he heard the poorly hidden excitement in the man's response, "I'd love to."

Edith stood, "OK, I'll meet you outside in a minute." And the man turned away from them and started walking towards the back exit of the bar.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Edith turned back to Matthew and all of the warm sexiness in her voice was replaced with her normal tone. "Right, I'm going to go have a smoke. It'll take Bates a few minutes to get those drinks ready, so I'll be back before they are all done." Edith motioned to the two beers she brought with them from their table, "And don't start in on those before I get back."

Matthew asked curiously, "Who is that guy?"

Edith shrugged absently, her eyes and hands searching in her purse, "I don't know…but I've gotten pretty good at telling how someone is in bed just by looking at them." She pulled out a second cigarette and a small, silver lighter, "It's something in the way that they carry themselves, something in the back of their eyes, and he looks like he could do the job fine for the night."

Matthew's head was spinning in his state of disbelief, "You're going to sleep with him, even though you don't know his name?"

Her response was prompt, annoyed that she had to state the obvious, "I'll learn his name before I go to bed with him."

Matthew felt his shock and bewilderment and Edith must have seen it too because she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and explained with a casual laugh.

"I'm in control, Matthew. I'll get good and buzzed and then stop drinking so that I'm in my right mind when I take him home." She shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly,  
"It's just a hook up. I've done this before and, after tonight, I'll do it again." She lowered her hand from his shoulder, "For lack of a better explanation, I just need to have some fun and he seems to be the second best candidate in this place for the…" She searched for the right word before finishing with another light-hearted laugh, "… _services_ that I require."

Matthew picked up on the causally spoken assessment, "Second best?" He looked around the bar wondering, "Who was the first?"

Edith laughed loudly and then punched him in the shoulder playfully, "It was you, Matthew."

The exclaiming and questioning 'what' that came from him was a reaction to his shock, but, quickly after, Matthew let his eyes fall to his feet. He knew that Edith wasn't coming on to him, but he still couldn't hide his blush.

Ed continued, now laughing at the scarlet spreading across his skin, "From the moment you walked in here tonight, I knew that you could make any woman extremely happy, and I immediately wanted to take you home. But…"

Matthew heard her pause and he raised his eyes to hers again. Her thin face grew thoughtful, a new seriousness highlighting her eyes and she spoke with a softness that he barely caught over the music, "…but then I saw…and I knew..."

Matthew understood her broken sentences.

_But then I saw how you looked at my sister. And I knew you were unavailable. _

Matthew kept his secret on a leash. He kept it close, reined in and tamed, desperate to keep it hidden and safe. But, earlier in the night, Matthew was made aware that his leash was fraying, splitting and dividing, and the great secret of his love for Mary was being passed into the possession of others.

So, under the weight of Edith's knowing eyes, Matthew felt himself give his precious secret more slack. The restraint came lose and he split it again, dividing it once more, passing the truth of his affections to Mary's sister.

He matched his thoughtful tone to hers and looked her straight in the eye, unashamed, "You're right. I _couldn't_ possibly go home with anyone."

Matthew realized that his mind had automatically chosen the word _couldn't_ over the word _wouldn't_. Though the two words often seem interchangeable, a distinct difference embodied them when the prospect of being with someone other than Mary presented itself. _Wouldn't_ reveals a decision based on a choice; _Couldn't_ tells of an impossibility. Matthew knew that he physically could not be in the arms of another. To be with someone other than her would have been a crime against nature; like flesh on flame, water in the lungs, a bullet to the brain.

Edith smiled kindly at him, "I know."

Another moment passed before all seriousness and thoughtfulness vacated her expression and she suddenly become very threatening. She leaned forward, pointing a purple painted nail directly at his nose, "And I'll kill you if you tell Mary I'm smoking." She turned and started to walk away, but Matthew heard her say, "I can't handle a lecture tonight."

Just as Edith left Bates returned, his arms overflowing with bottles of liquor, cans of juice, steel shakers, and a variety of garnishes; and Matthew watched with a curious eye as Bates started pouring different bottles of liquor into one of the shakers.

Bates spoke to Matthew over his work, "So, I saw your name on your card—Matthew Crawley." He scooped ice into the steel cup "I'm assuming you are the Matthew Crawley that Mary and Anna Smith work for?"

"I am. I know that Mary lives near by, but how do you know Anna?"

Bates quickly shook the container before taking off the lid and pouring a sickly brown liquid into three shot classes. The horrendous color didn't match its pleasant scent of sour apples and sweet spices.

"Only through Mary. She's brought her in a couple of times in the past few months and we've always chatted then…Anna seems like a marvelous woman."

Matthew nodded as Bates poured three creamy liqueurs into three different metal shakers, "She is. I've had the pleasure of knowing her for a long time and I can attest to her…marvelousness"

Ice followed the opaque liqueurs and Bates shook each container furiously before pulling out six more shot glasses, "Well, I've known Mary for a long time. I first meet her when I caught her with a fake ID when she was twenty. I took it away from her but I let her stay and drink pop." Bates smiled at the memory and looked in the distance behind Matthew shoulder, "I couldn't throw her out; she was too entertaining. She passionately argued with me for about twenty minutes, trying to convince me that she really was a forty-two year old from North Dakota."

Matthew laughed, envisioning the scene perfectly, "That sounds about right."

He followed the line of Bates' eye, turning to look over his shoulder. Mary was leaning towards the other side of the table now, laughing loudly in response to something Jimmy was saying.

Matthew heard Bates speak over the crowd and music, "She's got spirit, doesn't she?"

He responded softly, his heart tender with love, "Yeah..."

He turned back towards Bates and saw the man looking at him knowingly. Bates spoke again, his voice gravel and honey, "I'd like to see her happy, really happy."

_I'd like to be the one that makes her happy_.

Matthew didn't say the words allowed, but he thought that Bates saw the truth underlining his eyes.

Bates watched him, closely examining him in the muted light before eventually nodding. A quite understanding passed between them, and Matthew felt his guarded secret split and divide once more as it was passed to include another soul.

Over the next couple minutes Matthew watched Bates layer the shots, just as he learned to do years ago, gingerly using a teaspoon so as not to disturb the density. The process was time consuming, but the visual effect and smoothness of the drink were worth it. Bates topped three with whipped cream and he used a small eyedropper to place grenadine into the middle of the last three.

Edith returned, bring the night air and the smell of tar and smoke with her, just as Bates slid the nine finished drinks towards them.

She spoke, her voice a little breathless from the crisp night, "Oh good, you've just finished."

Matthew smirked at her, "That was quick Ed."

She delicately wiped her lips and straighten her top, "Yes, but I'm incredibly satisfied."

Matthew was at a loss for words.

Edith laughed again, "Would you relax, Matthew! I haven't screwed him… yet."

"Did you at least find out his name?"

"Yes. It's Chad."

"And what does _Chad_ have to say about your plans for him?"

Edith picked up one of the beers and spoke in a nonchalant manner, "He seems keen, but I told him to keep his distance for awhile. He knows that I'm out celebrating my lovely sister's birthday and I need to make sure she's happy and drunk before I leave her."

Matthew rolled his eyes, "Oh, how thoughtful of you Ed."

Edith met his sarcasm, "Haven't you figured it out yet, Matty?…I'm a fucking saint."

He laughed loudly and picked up the second beer, "What should we toast to?"

Edith opened her mouth to speak but Matthew cut her off again, "Wait! Let me guess," he rose his bottle to the heavens, "Here is to a night of bad decisions."

Edith raised her beer to his, "Amen."

They both drank before Matthew asked her, "Do you always toast to that?"

Edith lowered her bottle, "Only when I'm out looking for a shag… But I guess I shouldn't have included you in my toasting."

"Why not?" Matthew pressed his lips to the bottle again, drinking deeply, and he felt his mind drift.

_The night was hushed and black and their skin was naked except for moonlight. Matthew lowered his head to Mary's neck, his lips tracing the beauty of her exposed flesh, his arms supporting the weight of them both as he slowly lowered her onto his bed, and they were each unable to speak a word that was not the other's name._

Matthew lowered his beer and spoke again, feeling the memory of Mary's scent in his lungs, "Perhaps, I'd like to have a night of bad decisions as well."

"Bull shit."

Matthew paused and pulled his unfocused eyes to Edith, "What?"

She repeated herself with the same cool emphasis, "Bull shit."

Ed held her beer in suspension between the bar and her lips and Matthew was silent with his bemusement. Ed eventually explained with a heavy sigh and an eye-roll, "I'm calling you out on your bluff Matthew—Bull shit."

Matthew eyes challenged her but his tone remained light, "And why can't I have the evening I desire? "

The bar was getting more and more crowded by the minute, the noise level reaching a new high and Edith leaned in closer to him, her eyes holding a knowing gleam, "I know what you are thinking, Matthew; I know the evening you're envisioning involves my sister and perhaps the absence of clothing. You claim to want a single night involving a lot of poor decisions." She leaned back again and shouted to him, "But you don't really mean it."

Matthew didn't back away from the truth of her words, but he pointed out the obvious mistake, "I'm not looking for _only_ one night with her, Ed…She's more than that."

She rolled her eyes again, losing her patience with him, "I know that. Watching you watch her for ten seconds and anyone could guess that you want more than a fling, but trust me Matthew, it wouldn't be right. It's not the right time." Edith emphasized her next words by pointing her finger at his nose, "You don't want the consequences of the night you long for."

Matthew only heard her first words, paying little attention to the one's that followed, "You don't think I'm good for her?"

Ed sighed heavily, "It's not that necessarily, although, obviously, I don't know very much about you." She fluffed her hair and then sipped her beer, "I hated everything about you when Mary first started working—you were selfish and cowardly, and needy, and, despite the stuffed bank account, a real dead-beat." She turned towards him and added quickly, "No offense of course."

"None taken." There was nothing that anyone could say about him that Matthew hadn't already called himself on numerous occasions.

Edith continued, "But Mary has kept us very abreast with how things are progressing in that glass tower that you call a home, and, truly, Sybil and I are glad to hear it." She paused and looked deeper into his eyes, "Everyone has a past, something that they are ashamed of or wished hadn't occurred, but it seems that you are waking up and trying to move on from the things that have drug you down for so long." She smiled at him kindly, "And I respect that you stepped up and admitted your flaws. I think that swallowing your pride and owning up to your mistakes shows great character."

Matthew returned her smile and watched Edith drink from her beer before she spoke again, "But, nonetheless, sleeping with my sister would still be an enormous mistake."

"Why?"

Edith tilted her head and gave him a knowing look, "You know why, Matthew."

And he did know.

Matthew didn't turn, but he could feel the constriction of Rick's arm around Mary's back, pulling her closer, claiming her as his own.

Edith continued on, "Unfortunately, she's in a relationship with Professor Dick and Mary is not a cheater. I know how she talks about you and I've seen how she looks at you, so I know that she's shares in your attraction but…" The tone in Ed's words changed and her next words came from her as if they tasted bitter on her tongue, "…Mary is faithful and unwavering."

Matthew lowered his head, ashamed of himself for his desires, "I know."

"Can I offer you some advice?"

Matthew responded in a distant manner, knowing that any advice would be pointless in the hopeless matter, "Sure."

"Don't push yourself at her. If she leaves Rick, which, by the way, is something we are all pulling for, it needs to be her decision. She needs to see for herself how unsuited they are."

Matthew rubbed at his brow, a sudden fatigue coming over him.

Ed pressed on, leaning towards him, trying to physically impress her words on him, "So if you really desire more than a single night with my sister, don't push yourself at her too strongly. I know Mary and I know that, without too much thought in the moment, she would make the mistake that you claim to want so badly." Ed put an open hand on Matthew's shoulder, forcing him to look into her eyes, "But it would still be a mistake. A night with you, a slip up with you, would cause her a lot of grief. She wouldn't be able to look at herself and she certainly wouldn't be able to look at you. She'll look at you and only see the person she cheated with…and nothing more. Is that something that you want?"

His eyes echoed his honesty, "Of course not."

Edith leaned away from him, "I know. So, you don't _really_ want a night of bad decisions, Matthew." She picked up her beer and finished it in with a long pull, before adding quietly, "So, let's leave the poor judgment to me for the remainder of the evening."

Matthew knew that Edith was right. He wouldn't risk Mary's friendship and presence in he and his daughter's life just for a single night with her.

So he would take simple moments with her instead; a brushing of their fingertips when he handed her a glass of wine, feeling the vibrations in his chest when listening her speak about her passions, the pleasure of waking her when she fell asleep on the couch, breathing in her molecules when he helped her into her coat each night, witnessing the smile that could heal his broken soul. Matthew loved those stolen moments, and if they were all he could have of her, then he would have them gladly. He would gather them up and hold them close, continuing to live only for the next.

He saw Edith's eyes traveled to the shots in front of them, and Matthew's gaze followed, noticing how the whipped cream was starting to melt, leaving a milky ring on the bar's surface.

Edith glanced down at her oversized wristwatch and turned to look at the table their party occupied before speaking in an aggravated tone, "I should have had Bates wait a bit longer. It's still a couple minutes before ten o'clock."

"And what happens at ten o'clock?"

Edith gave him a hard look, aggravated once again that she had to explain the obvious. She indicated the nine shots in front of them, "We get to take the shots."

Matthew suddenly noticed the odd numbering, "Who are the third shots for?"

Ed repeated her previous look of annoyance, "Mary of course."

Matthew laughed once without humor, "I don't think Rick is going like the idea of Mary doing a line of shots with me."

Edith mimicked his humorless laugh, "That's the understatement of the century, but what Professor Dick doesn't know won't hurt him."

Matthew felt a sudden fluttering of excitement in his chest, "What do you mean?"

"It's all about the timing, Matty." She glanced at her wristwatch again, "And at any moment now_,"_ Edith spat his name, "…_Rick_ will be leaving our company for the evening."

The flutter turned into a humming and Matthew felt his eyes brighten, "He's leaving?"

Edith smiled at him, seeing his excitement, "Yep. He's flying to Boston tonight on the Red-Eye. He's got to speak at a seminar, or something, tomorrow and the next day." She rolled her eyes and continued explaining, her tone now bitter, "The good Professor only stayed in town for as long as he did because it's Mary's birthday...He'll probably hold this one act of decency over her head for the rest of the year."

The humming in his chest picked up again, turning into a heavy bouncing and Matthew rotated in his seat just in time to see Rick rise from his.

Edith turned to watch as well and, together, they saw Rick make his goodbyes to rest of their group before Mary stood as well, intending to see him out of the bar and make a private farewell outside. For a moment, Matthew wondered if Rick would come over to say goodbye, but as Mary passed in front of him heading for the entrance, Rick only raised his eyes to meet Matthew's across the room. Rick's expression was a loaded warning in a single glance, and just as Matthew felt his own blank expression turn into something more fierce, Rick broke their twisted glaring, turning away and following Mary outside.

Matthew heard the distant murmuring of Edith's voice, "Remember Matthew, don't do anything too stupid."

His mind registered her words but they got tangled, and thinned, and smeared somewhere beneath his ribs.

The minutes that passed were the longest in his lifetime and he tried with all of his might not to imagine what was passing between Mary and Rick on the shadowed street outside. He focused all of his attention on the sounds of the room, anxiously waiting for the slow moan of an opening door. There was laughing and shouting, the low base of the track blasting through the speakers, the scuffling of drunken limbs over the sticky hardwood, the movement of clothing against tightly compressed bodies, the trickle of bottles and glass being emptied and then filled again, and finally, there was the call of the ancient door.

Then, just as easily as he focused on the din around him, Matthew tuned it all out, muting the world as he turned towards the door.

He did not have to search for her. Her pull was magnetic, a greedy tug that he effortlessly fell into. She had discovered him easily from across the room and it was wonderful to be at the center of her eyes. Her gaze was hungry, making up for lost time, and he devoured her as well, trying to satiate his never ending hunger. Her stare softened, her lips turning up, and Matthew's body ached at her beauty. She sauntered towards him on a pair of impossibly high heels, her movements full of purpose, and the bounding in his chest turned into the most pleasant throbbing imaginable—hot and full.

She came to stop before him and her smile grew wider, bleeding across the short distance and etching into his lips. He could feel her movements, the twitching of her fingers, the rise and fall of her chest, just as if there were an invisible string, tied somewhere beneath their ribs and comprised of shared nerves and shared vessels, linking him to her. They were one body occupying two spaces. Did she feel it as surely as he did? Could she taste the breath on his tongue? Did she feel the blood surging in his veins? Could she see herself through his eyes?

"Hello again." Her voice was warm water and soft cotton.

"Hello." His response was dry but, with it, Matthew told her that he was forever hers.

She smiled again, "Sorry we haven't got to spend much time together," Mary looked to his right and Matthew suddenly remembered Edith by his side, "I hope Ed's been keeping you company."

He waved her off, "No worries, truly." He saw himself in the reflection of her eyes, "It's your birthday and you should be socializing with your friends. I get the pleasure of your company nearly everyday and I can't be selfish." Matthew nodded in Ed's direction, "And your sister has been wonderful company."

Mary's face fell into a hard look as her eyes locked on Edith, "I hope she's been on her best behavior."

Edith's response was prompt and as cold as ice, "I didn't get naked or set fire to anything if that's what you're asking."

Mary sighed and the tension between the two was palpable. Matthew was about to speak and attempt to break up the heaviness of the moment, but quiet unexpectedly, Mary started laughing. It built in her slowly but her body was eventually shaking with her hysterics, causing Edith to break into her own laughter as well. And with that short interaction and corresponding response, Matthew realized that the sisters before him had a long history of bickering and of love in equal measure.

Mary then caught sight of the shots in front of them and her tone was light, "Oh. It looks like I've been missing out on your fun." She tilted her head and looked deeply in to Matthew's face, trying to judge just how inebriated he was, "How many have you had?"

Edith spoke before Matthew got a chance, "Only one, unfortunately. We've been waiting on you, but you're here now so lets get started."

And with that, Edith quickly handed Mary one of the shots topped with melting whipped cream before sliding its twin to Matthew and saying, "Here Matthew—have a Blow Job."

Matthew laughed uncomfortably and looked up to gage Mary's reaction, but Mary only shook her head in a bemused manner.

"Am I right to assume that you've been torturing Matthew all evening with similar jokes?"

Edith picked up the remaining shot, "You know me well." She rotated in her seat and raised the small glass in the air, causing Mary and Matthew to mimic her actions, "Now, here is to my wonderful big sister, who lives a far less interesting life than I do but probably won't ever have to do a walk of shame on a Tuesday morning with only one shoe," Edith winked at her sister, "Happy Birthday Love."

There was laughing, the chiming of glass, and the downing of sweet and burning alcohol.

"Yummy." Edith said with an appreciating smacking of lips.

She wasted no time distributing another round, "Slippery Nipples for everyone." And Edith locked eyes with him, "Matthew, would you do the honor of the next toast?"

His laugh was uneasily as color rushed to his cheeks, "Of course." Matthew raised the small glass in the air, "Here is to Mary, who…" he caught her eye and he was suddenly at a loss for words.

How could someone glow in such a muted shadow?

"Who…"

There were so many things that he wanted to say to her, but nearly all of those confessions he couldn't let slip from his lips.

"Who…"

Mary's eyes soften and her face broke slightly and he knew that she understood his struggling mind.

The seconds that passed were lifetimes, but she remained before him, their eyes fused, their hearts tangled.

Matthew breathed for her and he finally found the words, "Who helped heal a broken family…" Mary's smile was true but sad, and he knew that he had to lighten the mood, "…and who can drink most men under the table." Her smile brightened with her laugh, "Happy Birthday Mary."

The clear bell of ringing glass echoed around them once more and the burn of the drink was not quite as strong.

The third and final shot was in his hand before the empty one was placed on the bar.

Mary held her final drink in the air and said, "I get to do the honors this time."

She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and cleared her throat, "Here is to Ed and Matthew…" His heart was warm from the alcohol and the sound of his name on her lips, "…the first will get me very drunk and the second will make sure I don't do anything too stupid."

And the echo of 'cheers' was around them and their glasses were empty.

The alcohol was slowly making its way into his blood; his head becoming a little light, his eyes becoming a little hazy, and his body becoming a little brave. Matthew looked to the woman he loved; her complexion slightly flushed, her eyes slightly heavy, and her movements slightly delayed. They were both still in control of their bodies, but as the hours ticked by and the drinks continued added up, who knew what could become of them.

As soon as Edith finished her shot, she motioned for the nearest bartender and an unknown young man walked towards them.

"Hey Branson. Can I get…" Edith turned back to Mary and Matthew, "Would you two like another one?"

Mary laughed and said, "I think I better give it a minute or two."

Matthew agreed and Edith turned back to the bartender, "Alright, can I just get two Lemon Drops?"

The young man nodded and turned to make her drinks and Mary spoke again, "Ed, we said we didn't want another one yet."

Edith scrunched up her face and defended herself, "I know. I wasn't getting one for you."

A bit of haughtiness edge itself into Mary's voice, "Doubling up again?"

Edith rolled her eyes, "No, I'll be leaving you two alone for a bit." Edith moved to look over Matthew's shoulder and he didn't have to guess at who was somewhere behind him, "I plan on enjoy your birthday evening as well, and I've already picked myself out a very nice present."

Edith gave a small waved into the distance behind him and Mary turned just in time to see Ed's new friend wave back.

She turned back around and this time it was Mary who sighed dramatically, "Good Lord Ed! You've already got one picked out for the night?"

Edith was unashamed, "I have."

Mary's retort was quick, "Don't you know that it takes more than fucking a stranger to keep yourself warm at night?"

Matthew experienced whiplash from how quickly he turned to look at Mary. It's not like he'd never heard or inflected the four-letter word before (he often used it in times of anger or when the right adjective escaped him), but Matthew certainly had never heard it spoken so eloquently as it just was from Mary Crawley's mouth; Her velvet lips did the simple word a great service.

It took her a moment to register what had just slipped from her, but as soon as it did, Mary turned a wonderful shade of red and clutched an open palm over her mouth. She looked at him sheepishly and Matthew felt his eyes sparkle with humor.

Edith laughed loudest, standing as the young bartender returned with her drinks, "You see Matthew, when alcohol is involved, Mary becomes a bit more like her middle sister—honest and vulgar." Edith picked up the shots with another laugh, and planted a quick kiss on Mary's exposed, pink cheek, "But don't wear my personality for too long, Love," Ed gave Matthew a knowing look as she walked away from them, "…it'll get you into trouble."

In the absence of Edith's large character, the room around them suddenly felt very empty. There was a lingering moment of awkwardness as Mary passed in front of him to occupy Ed's vacant stool. Their knees brushed at their close proximity and Matthew could see the individual golden links that made up her necklace.

A cough issued from Matthew's side and he and Mary both turned to see the young bartender looking at them shamefully as he shouted over the music, "Umm…is Ed coming back to pay for those?"

"Oh, Branson. I'm so sorry…"

Mary started to apologize but Matthew cut her off by placing an open hand on her thigh, "No it's ok." He then turned to the young man, "Sorry about the confusion, but all of her drinks will be on my tab. It's up there already under Matthew Crawley. And while you are adding on Ed's drinks, could you please add on a couple more rounds of shots and take them to that table back there?" Matthew pointed over his shoulder to the rest of Mary's friends and family, before concluding, "You can make whatever you like just as long as it's smooth and strong."

Branson nodded and left them, and Matthew turned to find Mary looking at him in a bemused way, shaking her head slowly, "I knew that you would do this. You don't have to buy everyone's drinks Matthew."

The alcohol is his system was making his lips feel strange, "I know I don't _have_ to, but I want to."

Was he talking loud? It seems like he was talking loud.

"Most of you are students and I remember what it was like going out and trying to have a good time while being in school." He laughed at the memory, "Some times I had to choose between alcohol and food…Alcohol often won out."

Her smile was shy but lovely, "Well thank you. It's very sweet of you."

Matthew suddenly became aware that his open palm was still on her leg. It was flushed and splayed, hot and needy, telling her of a desire that could not be spoken aloud.

Brave. The alcohol was making him feel so brave.

Mary did not lean away from his touch nor did she seem uncomfortable by their contact; she only remained still, breathing and holding his eyes, consenting to be with him amongst the crowd. He left his outstretched hand on her body for a moment longer before slowly pulling it away, his finger's tracing against the fibers of her clothing that shielded skin from skin.

His hand fell stiffly into his own lap and never had an open palm felt so entirely empty.

Matthew spoke against his disappointment and offered her another smile, "Don't thank me yet. I haven't given you your birthday present yet."

She sat up straighter, her interest peaked, though she tried to hide it, "You got me a gift?"

He looked at her disbelieving, "It's your birthday, Mary…Of course I got you a gift."

"I really hope it's not expensive."

He skirted around her question and only answered by saying, "I didn't spend a dime on it," He stood and edged around her, "but I left it at the table so I'll be back in a minute."

Matthew was back in thirteen seconds.

He resumed his seat across from her and the small package suddenly felt very insignificant in his grasp. He wanted to give her more than the material possessions of his earth; he wanted to give her passion and love, he wanted to give her the sands of time and the breaking heavens, he wanted to give her the sensation of being barefoot in soft grass and bottle up the warmth of the morning sun, he wanted to give her memories that would fuel nations and outlast life, he wanted to give her the exaltation of a life reborn…the same gift she unknowingly gave to him everyday.

But all Matthew had was the package in his hands, "This was given to me a couple years ago. I don't know its monetary value, but its _true_ value is wasted on me…It's better in your keeping." He extended the gift bag towards her, "Happy Birthday, Mary."

The smile she wrought was his favorite and she fashioned it just for him.

"Thank you." She gingerly pulled the bag from his grasp and gave him small peaking looks of wonder as she started to remove colored tissue paper, a wide, curious smile stretched across her face.

Loosely crumpled balls of paper were tossed across the bar and littered onto the floor, and the beautiful smile fell quickly from Mary's face.

Wonder turned to shock in a moment and her wide eyes told of her disbelief. Her trembling hands pulled the gift from the bag, which fell, joining the forgotten tissue paper on the floor. She looked at the old book hungrily and handled it delicately, and Matthew knew she was controlling her breathing, afraid the simple push and pull of oxygen would damage it somehow.

She continued to occasionally glance at him from over the worn canvas cover, and her eyes traded astonishment for doubt, shock for uncertainty, and Matthew's only response was a growing smile. He had hoped she would react in this way. It was amusing and heartwarming to see her so blindsided and thunderstruck, but most of all, it was wonderful to be directly related to the source of her fascination and joy.

"Is…" her voice was broken, trembling with her excitement, "Is…Is this a first edition?"

Mary answered her own question as she turned over the aged stained cover and the first yellowing pages, revealing an elegant script and a date that read _1922_.

"Oh my God." The statement was quite, breathless with her returned wonder, "I can't accept this."

His smirk went unseen by her, "I'd be incredibly offended if you didn't."

Mary's lips pulled into a smile, but her eyes were still wide with wonder, "I know you're lying…but I just don't care."

Matthew continued to watch her as Mary flipped through the pages, discovering the original illustrations, the occasional smug created by its first adolescent owner, and the wrinkles and creases that came with being nearly a century old. He sat before her, mesmerized by her lips as they moved against unheard words, and Matthew read the story of how a toy rabbit became real by witnessing the simple expressions on Mary's face.

The alcohol was continuing to inch up on him, slowly substituting desires for realties, and the space between himself and the woman he longed for suddenly seemed far too great.

He moved towards the edge of his seat and leaned in closer, tasting sugar and roses, and spoke over the crowd around them, "It seemed right that you should have this… and Quinn quite agreed."

At the mentioning of his daughter's name, Mary tore her gaze away from the children's book in her grasp, and fixed her eyes upon him.

And the earth opened up, the crowd of people around them fell away into a hazy mist, and they were completely alone.

They were so close; only inches separating heated eyes and parted mouths.

And in that moment, in that beautiful flash of time, with the light trapped in her eyes and the shadows at play across her skin, Matthew was overwhelmed by love.

The love in his chest broke free. It over overpowered him, extending to his limbs, to his vital organs, to his bones, to his brain, and he forgot the reasons to keep his distance. Love had beaten him. He should just give up and subside, cross into the short distance and bury his lips in her neck, her hair, and never would defeat feel so wonderful. He was captured and claimed, occupied and possessed, conquered by the gleam in her eye and the watercolors that bled from her cheeks.

The love was devastating and his lips trembled with the truth of it, and Matthew suddenly realized he could not hold back any longer.

He could blame it on the alcohol.

He could surrender to his desires, grasp her porcelain face in his burning hands and kiss the pain away.

And Mary would let him.

Matthew saw that clearly now. He saw the truth in his chest reflected in her dark eyes. It was buried deep, hidden behind words that were spoken long ago, covered with promises she longed to break, but he saw it so clearly now.

She couldn't hide it from him.

And she could blame it on the alcohol.

They could hit fast-forward and allow for the truth between them to be sped up. They could leave now and chase the moon outside of their windows, searching for a place to begin a life shared. They could fall into empty bed, tangle the sheets, tangle their limbs, tangle their hearts until it was impossible to separate man from woman, impossible to tell he from she.

They could face their inevitable future.

And they could blame it on the alcohol.

Mary moved towards him first, the toxins in her blood perhaps hotter than his, clouding her mind and making her brave.

Her eyes were heavy, weighed down by certainty of what was about to pass and Matthew closed his own, focusing all of this alcohol-muted senses to his lips, wanting to truly feel the untamed bliss of her.

His heart was pumping burning chemicals and water, and passage of time was beautifully slow.

And Matthew loved Mary more in those moments between seconds than most men did in a lifetime. How could his heart still possibly manage to beat when it was this consumed by love? Surely, it could not manage to pump life and also love this completely; surely, it could not do both. So Matthew would take the later. He'd take the consuming worship, because who needed something as minimal as a simple rhythm in your chest when there was the option to have love instead?

The warmth of her ascending body hit him like the first rays of sunlight and he was dowsed in her glow. Millimeters of air only separated them now and in the closing proximity she filled his nose and his lungs, and every breath that he breathed was done in her name.

Loving her was like being filled with everything that had ever spilled from him, and Matthew was over-flowing, bursting at the seams, happily drowning in his saturated heart.

Then there was the contact.

Then there was the meeting of flesh; the connection, the touch, the press.

Then there was the joining of the past and the future, creating a life changing present that transformed them both.

But something was wrong.

Something was off.

His lips remained tragically alone and unoccupied; she had missed her mark, landing too far to the right.

Her exhale was in his mouth but it had traveled across his skin, originating from his cheek. Mary's lips stayed there, soft and telling across his skin, leaving them both hopelessly unsatisfied.

Matthew opened his eyes and saw her dark head tilted, craning around to reach his profile, and the disappointment rained down on him, beating him to the ground.

His hopes and expectations mocked him afar and the world returned in an instant. The crowd assaulted his senses with deafening sounds and the sticky heat of unfamiliar bodies. The cruel world returned and it was painted in shades of gray; Matthew's surroundings were cinders, his body a pillar of ash.

Matthew gently leaned into the kiss that had thwarted him, pressing himself ever closer to her, trying desperately to cling to the fact that Mary's lips were on his flesh.

Her kiss lingered longer than it should have and they paid no attention to the effort used to lean away, and once they were apart, Matthew found that he could not look her in the eye.

Mary's voice was quiet in their mutual defeat, "Thank you for my gift Matthew."

He could still feel the ghost of her lips across his cheek and Matthew was choking on the things he could not say to her, but eventually he heard himself reply, "You're welcome."

"Matthew?" she called to him across the short distance and, because he could not deny her any wish, Matthew slowly dragged his defeated eyes up to swim in the depths of her gaze.

His torment was echoed back in her darkened eyes and Mary spoke with conviction, "We really need to talk." He felt his stomach drop, "Not tonight of course, but soon. There are certain things that we really can't leave…"

Mary's words were cut off as she was wrapped in the arms of another and Matthew felt another set of limbs reach around and grasp his chest and arms from behind.

"Hello!" The voice in his ear was familiar but it was slurred and wet with alcohol.

He turned and discovered Anna at his shoulder, noticing that her jacket was back on and her purse was in hand.

Across from him, Mary had extracted herself from Sybil's embrace and was now trying to understand her sister's broken speech, "We're ready to dance now. Let's go down the street and dance. Because it's your birthday and we should go to dance. Don't you want to dance on your birthday, Mary? But we don't want to wait and dancing is what we should do instead of waiting."

Matthew couldn't help himself from laughing at Sybil's drunk rambling and he and Mary both turned towards Anna, who was obviously in a better state for explanations.

"What Sybil is trying to say is that, if you're ready Mary, the rest of us are ready to go to the dance club. If we leave soon, it'll be nearly eleven by the time we get there and it'd be nice to beat the crowd so we don't have to wait outside."

Matthew looked around Anna and saw that their table was now occupied by another group of people.

Anna continued, "I've got your coat and the boys have your gifts, so, if you're ready of course, we are all ready to go."

It was quite obvious that everyone else was eager to get to their final destination and Mary wasn't going to disappoint them, even on a night that was suppose to be about her. Mary rose from her seat, "Of course I'm ready. We need to find Ed first but then we can get going."

Anna spoke again, "Why don't you two take Sybil out front, the other's are already out there, and I'll find Ed."

Mary nodded in agreement and turned towards Sybil. Mary spoke loudly to her sister, her words simple and her sentences concise, like she was speaking to a small child, "Alright darling, we are going to go dancing; just like you wanted. But as soon as we get there, I want you to drink two bottles of water. Can you do that for me?"

Sybil nodded silently, her eyes glazed over with alcohol and threw a loose and heavy arm over Mary's shoulder and, together, the sisters started walking towards the front entrance.

Matthew remained by the bar and before she got more than a few paces away, Mary turned back and looked at him questioningly.

He spoke over the thunderous crowd, "I'll be behind you in a minute. I just need to close my tab."

She smiled at him, "OK. Please tell Bates I said thanks and, Matthew…" the sound of his name on her lips stole the breath that he freely gave, "…I know that Ed will soon succeed in getting me very drunk, so I don't mean tonight, but sometime soon, we really need to talk about some…things."

And Matthew nodded wordlessly, knowing exactly what those 'things' were.

She was the fuel, he was the match, and the unsaid words and the unfulfilled actions that constantly hovered around them were a million different sparks that could ignite them in an instant, and it was only a matter of time before one caught, and it was only a matter of time before their world would be engulfed in the flames that they smothered with realities but fanned with longings.

Mary spoke again, "I'll meet you outside."

And before she turned away from him, Sybil still hanging off her body at an awkward angle, Mary held him in her gaze for a moment longer and Matthew's eyes reflected off of her porcelain skin, showing her the color of love.

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**I hope you enjoyed this chapter and, again, I apologize for errors and for the epic length.**

**I know that the beginning (Anna and Quinn helping Matthew with his outfit) was an event that didn't really need to be told but when I started writing this chapter (over 6 weeks ago) the idea came to me and I enjoyed writing it so much that I left it in.**

**I also really enjoyed creating Edith's character. I envision Ed to be the type of person that says what she really thinks and it was fun to write her dialogue. Having that said, I wouldn't suggest for people to practice Edith's sexual looseness, but, nevertheless, there are people who actively partake in the "hooking up" lifestyle and I decided to make Ed one of those people. It's not for me, but, to each his own.**

**Part 2 will include everything else that I promised you last time, including sexed up, but not pornographic, dancing and an early morning confession of desires.**

**Thank you so much for the continued support on here and also on tumblr. For reasons that many of you know, it's been difficult to continue writing this story, but as long as there is someone out there to read it, I'll keep on writing. **

**Leave me with your thoughts. Thanks again. **

**Cheers.**


	11. Chapter 11

**After too much time, I give you Part 2.**

**This chapter is slightly shorter (though still clocking in at over 12,500 words) only because there was no time jump. I should have said at the end of the last chapter that Part 2 would also be written from Matthew's perspective, but it slipped my mind.**

**Alas, I did not have a beta-reader for this chapter, so I do apologize for errors and I am sure that you will encounter them. I hope it does not interfere with your enjoyment of the chapter.**

**You can read more of MY story at the end.**

**Happy reading.**

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Part II

Matthew could see her raised and dotted flesh.

In another world, he would stretch out his arm, his hand would easily find her Braille marked skin, and he would read aloud the dilation of her body.

And the best lines would tell of his love for her.

But Matthew kept his distance. He stood three feet away from her, uselessly rocking on his heels, his hands balled up into fists inside his jacket pockets.

The sidewalk beneath his boots was cracked and wet even though it had not rained in the city in several days. Therefore, the puddles below him left Matthew to assume that the pavement in front of the night-club was power-washed most nights, the force of the water rinsing the cigarette butts, gum rappers, and receipts of those who waited outside into the gutter.

The building at his back was a solid affair, made of worn stone and aged cement, its two-stories only occasionally marked with tinted windows.

Matthew's chest jumped and vibrated, rattling along with the low frequency tones blasting from inside of the stone structure behind him. The sound waves traveled through the ground, gently rattling the pavement below him, quietly disrupting his stance, roaming further up his legs, and making a home in his bones. The music wasn't particularly loud on the streets (only swelling when the front door opened for a moment), but Matthew's body _felt_ the deep vibrations of the tracks blasting within the club just as easily as he felt the cool wind on all of the pieces of his exposed flesh.

Matthew exhaled quietly and his eyes caught the outline of his warm breath, dense but weightless, against the black night.

The night had turned cooler than he had expected, though the evening wasn't (at least by Chicago standards) 'cold', Matthew's body had not acclimated its self to the briskness of the fall yet; he was still stuck on the warmth of summer. So the night that was probably no less than 60 degrees, felt like it was no more than 40.

Mary laughed in front of him, and Matthew smiled at her joy.

Anna continued on with her story and Mary laughed once more, though this time her mouth did not close. Mary's lower jaw jumped and vibrated quickly and she wrapped her arms more closely around her chest, attempting to master her shivering, trying to hold on to the heat of her body, a natural warmth that was determined to get away.

Matthew sighed and again the night held the ghost of his exhale.

Matthew silently cursed the unexpected briskness of the night, he cursed the warmth of his own wool jacket, and, finally, he cursed Jimmy, who stood beside him, his arms and chest bare to the cool night air but for his vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt.

Jimmy had a jacket on earlier in the evening, but sometime in-between leaving Bates' (but not before storing Mary's birthday presents into the back of Matthew's car), and temporarily stopping at an all-night bakery to get some carbohydrates and water into an already drunk Sybil (and to also procure a pitiful dinner of soft pretzels and cheddar cheese sauce for Matthew and Anna), Jimmy had, quite selflessly and quickly, surrendered his jacket to Mary, whose own jacket proved to be little more than a long-sleeved T-shirt.

The better parts of Matthew knew that there was nothing behind Jimmy's offering to her, but the worst bits of him were extremely jealous that Mary's intoxicating scent would follow another man home tonight.

Matthew tried to suffocate those worse parts of him and instead focus on the fact that Mary seemed to be warming up while encased in Jimmy's leather bomber jacket; she was swimming in it, the sleeves much too long and the chest much too wide.

Matthew leaned back further on his heels to peak around the line in front of them and realized, with a pang of disappointment, that the same group of people were still standing at the entrance of the club, meaning that the line outside had not moved in over twenty minutes. There weren't many people in front of their group, but at this rate, it could be another hour before they got inside.

The walk from Bates' had been an easy ten-minute hike and, whether it was his dinner of warm pretzels, the fresh air, or perhaps a combination of the two, Matthew was aware that he was slowly sobering up as they continued to wait outside of the club.

"This is fucking ridiculous!"

Matthew turned towards the speaker, though he already knew whom it was.

"It's not even 11 yet and I'm starting to lose my buzz."

Edith, as always, gave voice to everyone else's thoughts.

Edith and Chad, Ed's sexual conquest for the night, stood slightly removed from their group, casually passing a lit cigarette between them.

Edith took another long drag before handing it off to Chad and then spoke again, "Sybil."

Mary's youngest sister looked up, a little slowly, at the calling of her name. Sybil was now able to stand by herself, the water and cinnamon roll Matthew bought her battling valiantly against the thick layer of alcohol in her stomach, but her eyes were still clouded with beer and vodka.

Edith spoke on to her inebriated sister, "Do us all a favor and go show that bouncer your tits. I'm sure it'll help us get in sooner."

Sybil hiccupped and then gave a wet laugh before she started walking towards the door on a pair of unsteady legs. However, Sybil only took two steps before Mary reached out and stopped her.

Mary spoke to her youngest sister sweetly, "Let's just stay here and wait, darling. It won't be too much longer." Mary then turned towards Edith, all her kindness now replaced with anger, "What the hell, Ed? You know how Sybil gets when she's drunk—you can't tell her to do stuff like that because she will."

Edith only laughed at Mary's sharp tone, "Jesus. Would you relax? You know I wouldn't actually let her do it… I'm just tired of waiting."

Matthew could tell by Mary's voice that the walk had sobered her up a little bit as well, but her words still came out a little louder than normal, "Then why don't _you_ go flash the bouncer and see if that get's us in any quicker."

Edith laughed and rolled her eyes, "Mary…" Ed said her sister's name with a tone which suggested that Mary was missing something very obvious, "… I've lived in this neighborhood for over five years now—there is a very good chance that he's already seen my tits."

Edith and Chad laughed before lighting another cigarette, and Mary only responded by shaking her dark head in a disapproving way before another violent shiver broke down her spine.

Seeing her so chilled was making Matthew anxious and he leaned back to look around the line in front of them, only to find the same group still standing at the front of the queue.

Matthew started considering other options, acutely aware of the stack of currency in his pocket and the untapped potential that it held.

And, apparently, Edith was thinking along the same lines.

A cloud of opaque smoke spilled from her lips and Ed spoke aloud to no one specifically, "It's a shame really, I mean, _if only_ one of us were worth a couple hundred-million dollars and, _if only_, that person could possibly use his, or her, wealth for some good and bribe the doorman to let us all in… I mean…" Ed closed her eyes and scrunched up her face, as if making a wish, "…_if only_, we could continue celebrating Mary's birthday instead of waiting out here in the cold."

Edith opened her eyes and smirked in his direction and Matthew felt eight sets of eyes land on him.

To be honest, Matthew considered doing exactly what Edith was suggesting as soon as they rounded the corner and saw the line already formed out in front of their destination, but knowing that it would make Mary uncomfortable, he decided against it.

Everyone was still staring at him, so Matthew finally spoke, "I mean…I wouldn't mind giving it a try."

But, just as he expected, Mary spoke up, "Matthew, you really don't need to do that. I'm sure it won't be much longer."

Napier, who stood by Sybil's side, spoke to his shuffling feet, "I don't think the line has moved in nearly a half hour."

Matthew could hear Mary's mind working for a retort.

Edith, however, was quick to agree, "Yeah! Come on Mary!" She was nearly whining now, "Let Matty use his power for some good."

This made Mary speak swiftly, "You don't know what your talking about Ed. Matthew uses _most_ of his wealth for good." The cold air was powerless against the warming in his chest, which Mary's quick defense of him had rubbed. "Besides, what you're asking is incredibly rude…Would you suggest for anyone else to fork out money for the rest of us?"

"Fine…", Edith looked around at their small group and then quickly announced, "…if anyone here has made a couple thousand dollars today, not by doing anything, but just by existing and having money in the bank, would you please step forward and then pay off the man at the door."

A beat of heavy silence fell around them but Mary eventually spoke again, shame coating her words, "You are so selfish, Ed."

Matthew tried to tune out Edith's response. The sister's bickering made him uncomfortable and he became engrossed in the crowd around him.

Edith words had been mostly correct, although it didn't take one day for the interest in all of his holdings to accrue to a couple thousand dollars; roughly, it only took about 30 minutes. So, in the 2 minutes that it would take for Matthew to walk up to the front of the line, explain his wishes to the bouncer, reach into his wallet, and slip the man a wad of cash, Matthew would have, if his estimates were correct, already made back whatever he handed over, plus a little bit more.

Mary and Edith continued trading comments and Matthew continued watching those around him. Napier and Sybil, the drunkest in their group, were leaning on one anther while Napier continued to try to pick up Anna. Gwen was texting someone furiously and Jimmy was standing on his tiptoes, looking at the front of the line. Chad had an arm slug around Edith's shoulders and lit up another cigarette, and Matthew watched as his attention was diverted by a group of scantily clad women who passed behind him and made their way to the front of the line.

Matthew saw one of the women smile and then speak to the man at the door. Then a chain-reaction occurred. It started with the man extracting a clipboard and shuffling through the attached papers. After a minute, the bouncer seemed to find what he was looking for because he made a mark on the page, looked up at the woman, nodded once, lifted the velvet wrapped chain, and let the group pass by him as they made their way indoors.

Seeing this exchange gave Matthew a spark of inspiration, which was quickly followed by a pang of shame that he had not taught of it sooner.

Matthew retrieved his phone from his inside pocket and quickly Googled the name of the nightclub. Fifteen seconds later Matthew was texting a name and a proposition to his personal assistant at the Murray firm, apologizing for the hour and assuring him that a bonus would be in his future if he was able to achieve Matthew's request. His assistant's response took less than a minute and Matthew tucked his phone into his jacket pocket with a surging sense of pride.

"…this is just like you Ed. You think that you've been wronged by the universe and that you're owed something."

"Well, we can't all be perfect like you, can we Mary?"

"I'm not claiming to be perfect."

"Well of course you're not just going to come out and say it but that sense of perfection and superiority underlies everything that you do."

"Excuse me." An unknown man had entered into their circle, coming in between Mary and Edith, his eyes floating from Matthew, to Jimmy, and then to Napier, and then back again. This man was not the same man that was tending the front door, but he was dressed very similarly, "Is there a Mr. Crawley among you?"

And again, eight sets of eyes landed on Matthew, a ninth joining them a moment later.

Matthew stepped forward confidently, knowing the part had to play now and offered his hand to the unknown man, "Yes, that's me."

The man shook Matthew's hand vigorously, "So sorry about you, and your party's wait."

"It's not a problem. I should have realized that this club was owned by Mr. Turner, my firm has used his establishments for different events for many years now."

"Yes, and Mr. Turner hopes that you will be booking the Lumiere again for your firm's Holiday party this year."

Matthew held the man's eye and his next words assured that Mary would have a birthday to remember, "Well, if tonight goes well, then I'll certainly suggest that we do."

The man understood everything Matthew left unsaid and he nodded his head in agreement, "Yes, well then, let's not waste another moment," The man gestured towards the front door, "If you'd all like to follow me inside, I'll show you to one of our private lounge areas that we've cleared for you. It's located just off of our largest dance floor, and there your party will have access to our bottle service."

"Hell yeah!" Edith was giddy with her excitement and she stepped forward first to follow the man, "Bottle service! None of us are going to be able to remember our own names by the end of the night."

The man started walking towards the entrance and, with Ed at the lead, their small group fell in step behind him. Matthew let the others pass in front of him, steadying Sybil as the young woman started to stumble and then passing her off to Anna.

Their group passed by and Matthew found that he was alone…but for one.

Her soft, dark eyes held an unspoken question and his legs carried him towards her so that his lips only had to respond with a whisper.

"I didn't give anyone any money."

Mary tilted her head slightly, the waves of her hair falling softly over her slender shoulders but for a single dark lock, and the lights of the city, warm and clear, illumined the exposed contour of her flesh that he was so captivated by. And suddenly Matthew felt the alcohol in his blood make its resurgence, and he was light-headed as he continued speaking to her, his eyes fixed on the soft line of her neck, "I often find that a name, or even the mere suggestion of a name, holds more influence just money."

Mary's voice traded places with the music and his body hummed along with her lips, "And what does your name suggest Matthew?"

At the calling of his name, Matthew's eyes traveled up her neck, lingering on the curve of her jaw, before eventually finding the pillow lips that he longed to know.

He moved closer, and she did not back away from the heat of his body, "My name suggests many things, Mary—Power. Position. Persuasion."

His arm had lifted and his fingers were stretching out, wrapping around the lone lock of her hair, which painted a slender shadow on her profile. The tips of his fingers brushed against her silk woven skin, her pimples of cold replaced by a surging heat, and Matthew placed the rogue strand of her sweet smelling hair around her back, surrendering it to its kind.

And Matthew's gaze let go of her lips to settle into the warmth of her eyes, "And my name suggests patience, Mary."

He told himself that it was the alcohol in his system that was making him speak so honestly, but, perhaps, it was just the openness of her eyes.

Mary nodded slowly and Matthew hoped that she understood.

He continued, "And, either way, you should let me give you things. I want to give you things, and I'm in the position to do so, and, at least for tonight, I have the wonderful excuse of your birthday." His lips broke into a smile and she responded with one that matched, "So no more protesting tonight, ok? I want to give you things. Let me give you things, Mary."

There was a heavy pause between them and in that moment Matthew felt the gentle weight of the earth, and the earth felt like her hand.

And it was her soft touch. It was warm and secure. And it was greedy as she pried apart fist, making room for her palm.

Mary had given in, consented to his pleads, and showed him so by interlacing her fingers together with his.

Mary smiled at him and turned towards the door, the knot at the end of their outstretched arms pulling him behind her.

And as the man and the woman passed in front of the crowd still standing outside, the waiting crowd wondered who the couple were, and why they were chosen for admittance instead of them, and as they watched how the woman looked back at the man, and as they saw how the man's thumb traced unseen patterns on the woman's hand, the people that made up the background of this moment hoped that one day they too could find a love like this; one which demanded to be witnessed.

…

…

…

The room around him was made of lights. Lights that throbbed, lights that were really patterns, lights that cut sharply through the darkness.

The room around him was made of people. People that brushed against, people that shouted and laughed, people that danced and moved to a beat that insisted on being felt.

The room around him was made of music. Music that drowned out the question of tomorrow, music that commanded you to hold the one you love, music that deafened and enriched, turning Matthew into an organic movement of sound.

It had happened gradually over the past hour.

At first it was a measured sensation, one that started in his fingertips and his lips, but it had slowly branched out across his body, traveling through his veins and altering him chemically. It morphed into a warmth, a tingling sensation which affected his eyelids and made his cheeks feel stiff and waxy. Eventually, the tingle turned into a humming, and the buzz enabled him to sense and know his individual capillaries, so that he was sure he could close his eyes and number them off one-by-one. But that was before his body altered again, and that was before his limbs started to act of their own accord. Sometime later, he became aware that his body was slowing down, and it took him a little bit longer to down his fourth shot of vodka than it had taken to drain the fifth. By the fifth, his head had become detached, and it floated somewhere near the body that he could no longer acutely feel.

Matthew's body was nearly numb and all of his senses were severely deadened and he found his temporarily paralysis to be, not frightening or even slightly disconcerting, but, instead, only incredibly hilarious.

Its been said that drunkenness doesn't really change a person's personality but instead only exemplifies it. Therefore, despite the fact that Matthew had spent the better part of the past four years in a deep depression, his true character was a carefree one, so in his current inebriated state, everything was unbelievably funny.

Sybil and Jimmy doing their best impression of the final number in Dirty Dancing in the middle of a crowded dance floor was comedic gold. A passed out Napier, who was currently sleeping under their table with a variety of hand-drawn male genitalia on his face (Anna being the chief designer though the one that ran down Napier's left cheek Matthew was pleased to say came from his own hand), was hysterical. The sight of Edith drinking straight from a bottle of champagne while giving Chad, and everyone around her, a preview of what was to come, was sidesplitting. The image of Anna and Gwen go-go dancing on either side of the DJ at the back of the club brought laughing tears to his eyes. And the memory of Mary rapping along with remixes of gangster rap, a sloshing drink in one hand, and wearing a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses, would automatically make Matthew smile for the rest of his life.

Their private lounge area was roped off, a large man dressed in black acting as a gate-keeper, keeping others out and only allowing admittance to their party and a private cocktail waitress. Their privileged area of the club was outfitted with a large table, a long, cushioned booth, and a variety of leather chairs. And, most importantly, it was stationed just to the left and slightly above, the club's enormous dance floor, so that one only had to descend four steps to find themselves in the heart of a crowd of people practicing one of the earth's earliest forms of expression.

And everyone in their group was participating in that activity on the dance floor but for three; the first was asleep under the table, and the second was mesmerized by the third.

Mary was two feet in front of Matthew, moving, a little sloppily, to the roaring music, her dark trestles bouncing and swaying with her body, her drink of Grey Goose and cranberry making rose colored tracks down her fingers. Mary was enveloped in her own world, her hips breaking, up and down and up and down, her arms above her head, reaching for nirvana, the infectious beat supplying the quickly spoken words, which her wine-colored lips synchronized with.

And though they were in building over flowing with people, they were two souls cut from the same mold, and beneath his alcohol clouded eyes, Matthew's smile was unashamed, as he bore a private witness to Mary's drunken euphoria.

Matthew leaned on the edge of their table, his feet resting a few inches away from Napier's face and he focused on moving his phantom lips and shouting in her direction, "I didn't know you were such a fan of this type of music…You're very good."

His compliment had momentarily distracted her and Mary's lips stumbled over the next lines of the song as she broke into a smile and matching laugh. But she eventually found her mark again and caught up just in time for the track to launch into its hook.

Alcohol was a magical chemical in that, once consumed in vast quantities, it made one question their stances. For example, pop music wasn't a genre that Matthew was normally particular fond of, but, listening to it through the film of his drunkenness, it had suddenly become the best sort of artistry imaginable.

Matthew also felt the powerful urge to pull his phone from his back pocket and text someone. He had no one particular in mind (well, actually, the person he would probably be most likely to text in his current state was already standing in front of him, rapping along with Nicki Minaj while wearing darkly tinted sunglasses), but, nevertheless, he wanted to send a text to someone, anyone, and inquire about life's most important questions; like, 'Why are pizza-rolls so delicious when consumed between the hours of 1 and 4 in the morning?', or 'Whatever happened to Steve from _Blue's Clues_?', or 'Why didn't the Pixar lamp have its own movie yet? Surly its paid its dues.'

But the one stance that Matthew's full stomach of beer, vodka, and champagne, was making him question the most was, why on earth he had told Anna earlier that he would not be dancing tonight? Such a statement seemed ridiculous now. Surely, he had not thought through such a foolish declaration when he had originally spoken it. Especially because moving along with the music rattling through his bones seemed to be the only_ right_ thing to do. Even more strangely was that, normally, Matthew was certain that he wasn't a very good dancer, but now, leaning on a table covered with empty bottles, his toes tapping to the beat and his upper body lightly swaying from side to side, he was sure that his long-held belief was ill founded. In fact, Matthew was now sure, beyond all doubt, that he was an _amazing_ dancer—he was just waiting to unleash his talents on the world.

Matthew felt a laugh leave his lips for no apparent reason.

His drunkenness was nearly complete now, only a few more would make him forget the night that had just begun; However, Matthew wasn't quite there yet. While the alcohol in his system was blurring seventy-five percent of the world, the remaining fourth swam in front of his eyes in sharp relief; the haze of alcohol was making him observant to the obscure. He noticed he had a smudge on his boot that looked like the state of California and that Mary's top took the consistency of dark-water as she moved. He realized that his palms were in the shapes of ugly squares and that a fine peppering of nearly translucent freckles dotted her shoulders. He noticed that his teeth felt altered and tingly beneath his tongue and that Mary's lips kissed the air when she said his name.

How Matthew longed to be the air.

The song turned over, the new track containing no words, only a pleasant grinding, a pitched moaning, and a thunderous rhythm. Having no lyrics to mimic, Mary's lips stopping stirring, and she removed her glasses, revealing the darkness that Matthew knew so well.

Their drunkenness was alike; the same sloppy smile, the same reddened cheeks, the same layer of drink clouding their eyes.

Just then, Matthew thought of another certainty that alcohol redefined— the need for personal space and the natural shame of touching the forbidden.

And Mary apparently had the same epiphany.

She moved towards him and came to rest in the small space between his outstretched legs. Matthew had to look up slightly to meet her eyes and he watched as she lifted her arms to wrap them around his shoulders. He was vaguely aware that she settled her fingers into his hair, holding and lightly stroking the base of his head, as she leaned towards him.

Temple to temple, they came to a rest, and Matthew felt the outline of her lips open against his ear, and the caress of her exhale warmed him, the vibrations of her lungs as she started to speak touched him in an unseen place.

"Thanks for all of this…", Mary breathed in…and breathed out, "…I've never had such a wonderful birthday."

He was aware that he nodded and he was aware that she stood straight again, but, most of all, Matthew was aware that Mary stayed in the cradle of his legs, the gentle weight of her arms anchoring them together.

And Matthew was only alcohol.

So he removed his hands from the edge of the table and wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her closer to his body, holding her as she deserved to be held, the alcohol in his blood assuring him that his actions were right.

And, positioned as they were, Matthew leaning on the edge of the table, Mary standing straight between his legs, he was at exactly the right height to fulfill a fantasy. So, with the burning in his system urging him to do so, Matthew captured the moment God had provided and he buried his face in the soft curve of her neck.

And he was unashamed as he breathed her in, and he did not restrain from knowing the silk texture of her hair, and he was shameless in the way that he rested his lips against her jugular, siphoning the warmth from her body, willing his slow mind to remember the taste of her scent, its richness, its purity; and still, the alcohol in him continued to assure him that all was well.

The burn in their blood made them simple creatures, their minds untangled from worries, from the concept of shame and guilt, their bodies doing only what felt right.

They stayed like that for a long time, Mary's cheek resting on the crown of his head, Matthew knowing the flesh at her neck, neither acutely aware of _how_ they held the other, but each sensitive enough to the reality, to the force, of what rested between them. And yet, both remained silent and both gave their assent, as the pressure between them slowly broke their bones, making them into something new.

The promise to prolong their blissful state is what broke them apart.

Their cocktail waitress was beside them, dispersing another round of clear drinks, and Mary and Matthew broke their entanglement so that they could fuel their subconscious once again.

The waitress's reappearance caused the others to return from the dance floor as well, none of them aware of the intimate moment that had just occurred between the woman and her employer, and a moment later they were all standing in a lopsided circle, laughing for no reason but the drug in their veins, arms outstretched towards the center, toasting Mary and her health.

He could no longer taste the fermented grains nor could he feel its burn but, as he caught the sight of Mary tossing her dark hair over her shoulder and smiling widely in his direction, Matthew felt his body tremble.

However, Mary's attention was dragged away from him as Anna stepped in front of her and shouted over the music.

"I demand a dance with the birthday girl."

Anna did not wait for a response before she grabbed Mary's arm, pivoted on the spot, and started leading her out to the overcrowded floor, Sybil and Gwen following quickly behind them.

Jimmy grabbed a discarded beer, one that Matthew was fairly sure he had drunk out of earlier, and sat down heavily at the edge of the booth. Jimmy pulled out his phone and as Matthew watched his thumbs start moving rapidly over his phone's surface, a person to Matthew's right placed a hard and wet kiss on his cheek.

Normally, this type of physical contact while in public would startle him but in his inebriated state, Matthew discovered that he was unfazed, and as he laughed stupidly and turned towards the right to see who had kissed him, his mind was only thinking about whether or not he should return the favor.

He discovered Ed by his side, a confident smile aimed in his direction. She leaned towards him and shouted, "You throw a pretty great party."

He responded, his lips feeling inflamed, waxy, and slow, "I didn't do anything."

"I beg to differ."

Edith's words were not slurred, nor were her eyelids weighed down by drink. Matthew knew that she matched her consumption with everyone else, and, yet, she looked unchanged. And then it clicked. As she stood confidently in front him, her head titled to one side and looking the very picture of sobriety, Matthew realized (more slowly than it would have taken him normally) that she was one of _those people_, meaning that she was a professional partier—one whose brain could drown in alcohol but whose body and movements showed no sign of it.

Edith continued explaining, "You got us in the door, which, by the way, I'm still curious to know how you did, you got us this amazing lounge, and, look around you man...everyone is shit-faced and having a great time, and it's all because you are picking up the bill."

"Would you all have _not_ gotten shit-faced if I wasn't paying the bill?"

She paused, taking a short moment to think over his question, before smiling widely again.

"Well, yes, we still would have, but, and I know I speak for everyone, it'll be wonderful waking up tomorrow and not cringing at the thought of looking at my credit card statement."

Matthew shrugged his shoulders, or at least he thought he did, "Well, I'm happy to be of service."

"Are you?"

Edith responding question was so quick and so unexpected that Matthew paused, trying to work through the thickness in his head, his bewilderment obvious in his response.

"…Yes?"

"Good," Edith's smile was stretched across her face, "because I need you to do me another favor."

"OK?"

"I need you to take Mary home tonight."

At this Matthew had to laugh, "Wait, wait…Now, I know that I'm drunk, so I could be mistaken, but I'm fairly certain that I remember you telling me just a few hours ago that sleeping with your sister would be a bad idea."

The smile fell from Edith's face and she let out an exasperated sigh that matched the emphasis she used as she rolled her eyes, "Jesus Matthew! You've got a one track mind don't you?"

"_I've _got a one track mind?..." and the alcohol made Matthew bluntly speak his mind, "…Forgive me for saying this Ed, but I feel as if you're in danger of taking of your pants at any moment."

Edith paused, taken aback by his frankness, but only for a moment. She then let out a hysterical laugh, "Well, well. Look whose come out to play."

Matthew smiled, "I'm not sure if I've ever met someone who was so incurably horny."

"It's a wonderful sickness and the coping mechanisms are fantastic, but, anyway, I'm not telling you to sleep with my sister."

"But you said…"

"I only want you to take her to your place, put her to bed, and then shut the door on your way out."

"Oh…OK…I can do that."

"Great! Because I don't think I can't babysit both her and Sybil and also…" Edith turned to look over her shoulder, and Matthew noticed that Chad had sat down on the booth next to Jimmy, "…fulfill my ambitions for the early morning hours."

Ed turned back to Matthew "Anyway, with Rick being gone, Mary will need someone to make sure she gets someplace safe to crash." Edith then added in an off-handed manner, "I told Rick that she could come home with Sybil and I and sleep it off on the couch, but, I mean, she's got her own room at your place, and Rick's not here, so…" Ed paused, looking for the right words, "so…fuck him."

Matthew and Edith laughed in unison.

Edith asked him for confirmation, "Fuck him, right?"

"Yeah…fuck him."

A sober Matthew might not of done it but he was not himself, so he wrapped an arm around Edith's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his side, and she responded by twisting an arm around to his hip, so that the two friends were side-by-side, facing the dance floor.

Edith laughed once and then spoke again, "I mean… look at her."

And Matthew abided to her command.

Despite the alcohol clouding his eyes and despite the vast amount of people on the dance floor, Matthew found Mary easily.

Somewhere in the deep swamp of his mind, Matthew vaguely remembered Mary declaring to both he and Sybil that she 'only danced ironically,' and now, seeing her at work on the crowded floor, Matthew understood her meaning.

While most of the people on the floor were dancing in a way that Matthew thought should be reserved for the privacy of a bedroom, Mary stood in a stark contrast. Though the beat was loud and heavy, her movements were light and carefree. She twirled, she jumped, she clapped, she waved her arms and skipped, she did throwback moves that hadn't been used seriously since the 80's, and most of all, she laughed.

She was full of joy, her happiness contagious, floating across the room and attaching to Matthew's lips.

At his side, Edith continued talking, "She would not be having this good of a time if Rick were here."

Matthew's eyes were glued to Mary as she danced amongst her friends, "Then, let's make his absence another reason to celebrate."

It was as if their waitress had heard Matthew's softly spoken words because she returned to their table a moment later and on her tray rested their next round.

The promise of drinks acted like a signal fire, and Mary and the others returned to their lounge as soon as the song was over, their faces flushed from dancing, laughing, and drink.

The clear liquid slid down his throat smoothly, and as Matthew bent down to place his shot glass on the table, the room around him started to tilt. He quickly steadied himself, and though the floor beneath his feet felt like unsteady water, and though he was sure that he could fall over at any moment, all Matthew could do was laugh.

After taking a moment, he looked up and saw Mary gathering her raven hair into her hands, making a quick knot of it, and securing it high atop her head, her actions creating a perfectly disheveled bun.

She quickly explained, her words thick, her eyes unfocused, "It's just so hot in here".

And he quite agreed because as Mary walked towards him, ringlets of darkness already coming loose and falling across her forehead, Matthew was aware that his flesh was catching fire.

Then she was before him, her drink occluded eyes holding him as she reached out, and Matthew felt the gentle kiss of her fingertips against his hand, and the flames which burned hotly inside of him, licked deeper, turned richer, melting him down.

They were cheek to cheek again and Mary's whisper flooded his mind.

"Come dance with me."

Her request was a demand and he gave his consent slowly.

And as Mary turned away, holding him by a few fingers as she descended the steps leading to the floor, Matthew witnessed an image he had dreamed about for months and one that would now keep him up at night.

It had been there all night, hidden by the thickness of her hair, but now it was revealed, bare and naked, to his starving soul. It was the color of cream and it lay open before him, beckoning him with its silent seduction.

Though Mary's wine-colored top was high-necked in the front, it plunged in the back, revealing a deep ravine of her exposed flesh. The tightness of her necklace against her throat was explained as Matthew saw the two chains, both the color of molten gold, knotted and then free falling down her bare back, swigging like a pendulum, dividing the smoothness of her down the center.

There were the vertebrae he longed to number.

There were the muscles he longed to knead.

There was the blank sheet flesh he longed to inscribe with his name; his fingertips the only ink, his lips the only brush.

And as she continued to lead him, heading for the center of the crowd, her spine shifting in the shadows as she walked, Matthew suddenly wished he were sober. He wished his eyes could focus, he wished his mind was unclouded, and he wished he could remember the atlas of her bare back.

Mary stopped walking and turned, hiding what had ensnared him, placing her wrists on his shoulders, and started moving to the insistent beat pouring from the speakers.

And Matthew discovered that she could dance in another way; one that was not at all ironic, but only hypnotic.

Matthew reached out to hold her as well, his hands nearly wrapping around her slender waist, his finger tips touching what was bare, her breath hitching at the contact, his matching exhale cracked but rectified.

And following an unspoken course, both of their bodies started heading in the same direction.

Knees bending, arms wrapping around, hands fisting hair and supporting backs, feet entangled, bodies pressing…pressing…pressing against.

And though their moving forms met at all of their angles and at all of their planes, the intimacy of their connection lived within their eyes; icy blue melting the black, the darker claiming the lighter.

And the buzzing of alcohol in his mind, shouted over the music, assuring him, over and over again, that the way in which he touched her, and the way in which he held her, was not at all wrong.

Could Mary hear it as well?

Did the alcohol within keep her better judgment at bay?

Because there was something in the way that she touched him, something in the way she held him. It was hard and needy, like she wanted to bruise him, the swollen marks leaving him with a reminder of the things she could not say.

But Matthew still heard her unspoken desires and he only responded with tenderness.

It was one body keeping time with another, both shifting, swaying, and twisting with a measured urgency.

And the urgency had nothing to do with the burning growing deep inside them, but only because time was a monumental force, and it was moving against them. The sun would rise, ending this night and the drug in their blood would slowly fade away, and with that bitter knowledge, Mary and Matthew's tangled bodies and inebriated minds spoke of their souls as they tried to live a lifetime of love in these few stolen moments.

Matthew's head was spinning; spinning from drink, spinning from emotion, spinning from pain, spinning and spilling from the affection and desire for the one in his arms.

And though their bodies told a tale this world could easily define, their gazes, locked intently on the other's eyes, held something that words lacked; a silence that shouted to all who looked upon them.

The room lived around them, people brushing against them, their feet trending over bits of forgotten paper and sticky wetness, the house lights dancing and shifting as their bodies continued to trade information.

And Mary's fair skin created the perfect canvas for the lights of the room to create, and as the two continued moving to the deafening music, beautifully resonant and magically spiritual, Matthew watched as her flesh blossomed into a piece of art.

Yellow beams peppered her arms.

A blue haze covered her neck.

Red kissed her shoulders and purple transformed her hands.

Orange lit up her face.

How much? How much would it cost to be the light, to be paint or the brush that enlivened her body?

How much?

Matthew would pay it gladly.

And as Mary turned away from him, Matthew saw her naked back painted in emerald green before he pressed an open hand against the center of her ribs, and pulled her securely against his chest once more.

He felt the pull of her lungs beneath his palm, labored but deep, and Mary placed an open hand across the one splayed against her torso, making their connection more secure.

They were two creatures made out of things laced in alcohol, and Matthew buried his face in the nape of her neck, and Mary clutched his hand like it was the only link tying her to this world.

Matthew felt the words swell in his chest, he felt the confession moving up through his body, growing warm in his mouth, knocking against his clenched teeth, demanding to be spoken aloud.

It would be so easy to whisper the truth of his heart into the bud of her ear. It was centimeters from his mouth, a perfect beacon for which to confess, and Matthew felt his body tighten in the anticipation of spilling his soul for her to see.

Bursts of lightening covered the room now, and Matthew saw her move in slow motion against his body, the flashes illuminating her neck, her shoulders, and his eyes took a million snap-shots in time as he gathered the breath in his lungs that would be released baring his love.

He moved across those centimeters, positioning his lips directly above her ear and spoke.

"Mary…"

His voice was week, his throat parched, his lungs strained under the weight of his declaration.

"Mary…I…"

She stilled in his arms, the movement of her lungs pausing against his outstretched hand.

"I…"

The strobe light switched off, and the room was cast in a bright, amber glow.

Mary pivoted on the spot, attaching her drink-occluded eyes to his, and Matthew thought that this was better—he wanted to look her in her depthless eyes as he told her of his unfailing devotion.

He smiled and then laughed, his chest overflowing with joy, "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to tell you that I…"

And in that moment Matthew saw the drink leave Mary's eyes. She sobered up in an instant, her gaze clearing of all obstructions as it tore the drunkenness from him as well.

Her features were soft and serious as she moved towards him, erasing what little distance there was, her arms wrapping around his shoulders once more as they came chest to chest. And in the depth of her clear, dark eyes, Matthew saw that she understood.

Though he had not spoke it aloud, Mary had heard it anyway; perhaps it echoed in her body as well.

Her face moved towards his own, her full mouth parted, her dark eyes trained on his lips, and Matthew readied himself for the woman he loved and the kiss she would bestow upon him, telling him that their shared love was just the beginning.

But for the second time in one evening, Matthew prepared for a kiss that never came.

Mary stroked the back of his head, curling her fingers through his hair, and brushed her porcelain cheek against his as she whispered in his ear.

"I think this night is getting away with us, Matthew."

And that was all it took for the memory of his promises to rain down upon him, and the bubble of euphoria he had lived within popped, the shame that replaced it, breaking his weary bones.

Could she feel his heart breaking against her chest?

Matthew swayed and faltered but Mary kept him standing up right.

He was supposed to be keeping her out of trouble, not leading her towards it.

He had promised her, he had given her his word, that he would not let her make a fool of herself while in her drink-compromised state, but instead, he had been holding the floodlights, marking the path in glowing ink, and pointing towards the direction of foolishness, urging her to fail, to fall in the direction of him.

But Mary had saved them both, and the regret that she had been forced to do so made Matthew cringe with his disgrace.

He wanted a future with her, not just a single night. He wanted her trust, her respect, and her love and Matthew blamed the alcohol for encouraging him to hold her and touch her in forbidden ways.

So, with the his final drinks of the evening already coursing through his veins, Matthew entwined his arms around the one that had saved him once more, and he buried his guilt stricken face into the bridge of her shoulder, taking his final dose of her scent.

Her face was in his chest, her hands continuing to rake through his hair, as Matthew broke away from her.

He composed himself and forced a smile that was a lie, "Yeah, Umm…You know, I think I'm going to stop drinking for the night." His slow mind formed a quick excuse, "I've got a lot of work that I need to do tomorrow. But you should continue celebrating. Birthday's only come once a year."

For a moment, Mary's perfect brow was crumpled with her confusion, but she eventually caught up with him, seeing his excuse and recognizing the ruse they lived together day after day, their best lies reserved only for the benefit of the other.

Mary shrugged her shoulders and Matthew tried to pay no attention to how her voice cracked, "Yeah…of course if you have work to do then it might be for the best if you stop, but… you're going to stay out with us, right?"

His was quick to respond, "Of course, of course!" There was no way he was going to leave her to fend for herself, "But I'm just going to stick to water for the rest of the night."

She nodded slowly, and Matthew saw the drink leak back into her watery eyes.

He spoke again, needing an excuse to get some distance from her, "Will you pardon me for a moment? I'm just going to use the restroom."

Her next shrug was less convincing and her reply was whispered beneath her forced smile, "Yeah, of course."

Matthew told himself that he had nothing to do with the hurt outlining her eyes as he spoke once more, "But thank you for the dance."

He urged her with his pleading eyes to see that he was trying to protect them from themselves, but Matthew couldn't stop the next words that fell from his mouth, "You were lovely…an enchantment in the form of a woman."

And his heart shredded into a million pieces as he walked away from her, leaving her alone on a crowded dance floor.

And Matthew remained true to his word, toasting the woman of the night only with water for the remainder of the evening. He continued to dance, though he dared not touch her again, choosing to partner with her sisters and her friends, the remainder of his movements missing all traces of the sensuality he had employed as he moved across her responsive body. He willed himself to speed up his sobriety as he had to continue fighting the screaming voice in his body telling him to hold her while he still had the chance and the fading excuse.

But Matthew continued to catch Mary's eye, the only part of her he dared to touch, and as he witnessed her body become more and more drugged by drink, he hoped that she understood the reasons behind his distance.

He prayed that Mary understood that his devotion to her was too great, too consuming, to have alcohol be the catalysis that catapulted them deeper into each other's arms.

Matthew loved her too much for that.

…

…

…

It was just past 4 in the morning.

Her legs, long and lean, were wrapped around his waist.

Her arms were grasping his shoulders, her fingers digging into his chest.

The curtain of her sweet smelling hair was falling over him, tickling and kissing his face as he moved.

Her laugh was beautiful and throaty, soaked in drink, pressed to his ear.

"Onward, faithful steed."

"As you wish my lady."

Mary was slung across Matthew's back, him carrying her piggyback style as he had been, on and off, since they left the club.

Matthew, his hands full of Mary's thighs, kicked the heavy door shut behind them, the loud bang echoing off of the glass walls of his home, causing Mary to break into another round of hysterical laughter.

She laughed, full and hard for a moment longer, before shushing herself and talking in what she thought was a whisper, "Sshhh, Sshhh!…We'll wake Quinn."

Matthew adjusted her nearly limp body and started walking through his darkened home, heading towards the room where her books lay dog-eared, where a pair of her slippers, worn and flaccid, lay discarded on the ground, and where a bottle of her shampoo, smelling of blossoming roses, made a white ring against black tile.

He chuckled lightly, the smile not having left his lips since they left the nightclub, "Don't you remember? She's not here. She's spending the night with Elsie downstairs."

Mary's questioning response was shocked, "She is?"

Matthew laughed again at the surprise in her voice, the vast amounts of alcohol in her blood greatly affecting her memory.

"Yeah, remember, we peeked into Anna and Elsie's guest bedroom and saw her sleeping when we dropped off Anna a minute ago?" They passed Quinn's empty bedroom, "You don't remember that?"

But Mary's mind was an oil slick, her thoughts intangible and constantly shifting from topic to topic, "I want some more cookie dough."

"I think you already ate it all."

Edith had succeeded in her quest to get Mary very drunk and it had been Matthew's self-appointed responsibility to keep her both happy and, perhaps even more important, out of trouble for the remainder of the evening.

They closed the bar down at 3 and after Matthew settled a bar tab that even made him pause for a moment before signing his name, their group staggered drunkenly into the streets of Lincoln Park, the still lively neighborhood showing very little signs of the early morning hour. Mary easily accepted that she would be staying at The Pearl for the remainder of the night, and as Matthew, Mary, and Anna, made to depart from the rest of their group, Mary hugged and kissed everyone (some receiving her affections twice after she lost track and started over again) thanking them all for coming out and celebrating her birthday. She gave an especially large hug to Edith and, with a big grin stretched across her face, blissfully wished her sister 'happy fucking' before the others, all of them living near the club, started walking in groups to their selected destinations.

As Matthew, more sober now but not daring to risk driving home, made to hail a cab, Mary loudly declared that she wanted a snack. Anna, happily drunk as well, agreed with Mary's desire, spilling the truth that she and Matthew had not gotten to have a proper dinner; a truth that Matthew wished the alcohol would dissolve from Mary's mind. And so their group of three headed in the direction of the all-night bakery they had visited earlier in the night, Mary climbing onto Matthew's back when it became clear that she would not be able to walk in her heels.

There were others just as drunk as Mary in the bakery, and as they waited in line to order Mary kept on leaning around Matthew and telling the same group of middle-aged men that it was her birthday, and every time the drunk men enthusiastically wished her 'happy birthday' as if the previous _four_ times she had told them had never happened. Mary then proceeded to tell the couple in front of them that she and Anna were sisters, the drunken couple easily accepting this though Anna and Mary could not be further apart in their appearances. Mary then launched into a very convincing story of how she and Anna grew up in Paris until they were, respectively, five and four, when their parents divorced and they were forced to move to the States with their mom and her Greek lover. However, as Mary continued explaining to the amazed couple, she and Anna still spent most of their summers in the south of France with their father who owned a lovely cottage and lived happily with his partner of nearly 20 years, Alexander.

When it came to be their time to order, Anna and Matthew both got blueberry muffins and Mary happily declared that she wanted a 'fist-sized ball' of cookie dough. The teen working behind the counter was unfazed by this request, brushing it off with a casually spoke 'no', not bothering to site the various health codes her request would violate. Matthew was sure that this bakery, whose hours of operation consisted of the time between 10 at night and 7 in the morning, was probably very use to getting strange requests from the drunks coming in their shop only after the bars kicked them out, but he was also sure that not everyone who requested a 'fist-sized ball' of cookie dough also slipped a hundred-dollar bill into the tip-jar, which is exactly what Matthew did, maintaining eye-contact with the teen as he did so.

A minute later they were outside sitting on the questionably sticky surface of a city bench, Matthew and Anna devouring their muffins, Mary's long fingers covered in the sugary-sweetness of chocolate-chip cookie dough.

The taxicab ride back to The Pearl was quick, the streets almost bare of all other life. Anna was starting to doze but Mary continued to entertain Matthew in a variety of ways. She insisted that she was 'freeing' the packaged sunflower seeds, which she extracted from her purse, as she poured the kernels into her hand and tossed them out of the speeding cab window and yelling 'be free my babies' after them. Mary also passed the time by explaining that the cartoons on Nickelodeon now a days 'are shit, with the exception of SpongeBob' when compared with what they grew-up watching. And finally, the last few minutes of the drive she spent trying to convince Matthew that she wasn't really 'that drunk' and insisting that she prove it to him by having him quiz her on basic multiplication. She did very well, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that eight-times-four wasn't thirty-four.

Matthew roused Anna, tipped the driver handsomely, and with Mary perched securely on his back, the three walked into the empty lobby. However, once inside, Mary insisted that Matthew put her down so he could 'time' her and see how long it would take for her to run across the lobby and 'touch the elevator'. She was sensible enough to remove her heels and Matthew heard the quick slaps of her bare feet across the polished floor, her hair (down once more and shielding her naked back) flowing behind her with the wind she created, her laugh growing fainter as she sprinted across the space.

Now, with Mary wrapped around his back once more, Matthew caught sight of her still bare-feet as they passed by his bedroom, heading for the next door.

"Where are your shoes?"

A pause. Her breathing.

"I think…I gave them to Elsie."

"Why?"

Matthew let go one of Mary's legs to quickly open the door leading to the guest bedroom.

"I don't know… it just seemed like a good idea at the time."

Matthew made for the bathroom, knowing that Mary kept a toothbrush there.

"Do you remember where you put them?"

She laughed against the nape of his neck before she answered, "I think… I put them outside her bedroom door…I think."

He let go of one of her legs again to flip on the lights and with the room cast in a clear, white light, Matthew stopped at the edge of the vanity and rotated, bending slightly so that Mary could easily slide from his back to the polished counter. Once he felt her gentle weight lifted, Matthew turned back towards her. He took a moment to see his outline reflected in her dark, heavily lidded eyes before he began searching for her toothbrush.

"Are you drunk?"

"Umm…" he was opening drawers and rummaging around in them, "…I was earlier in the night but I'm not so much anymore."

"Did you still have a good time?"

"Of course I did. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun, but the important question is whether or not you had a good time?"

Her voice was slowing down, "I had a blast…but I'm not sure if I'll remember any of it."

"I bet you'll remember the first half, but I wouldn't count on remembering the second."

Matthew discovered her toothbrush tucked inside the fifth drawer he tried, "But your sisters were taking pictures, so you'll have those to help you remember what you forget."

Mary was growing quite, her eyelids drooping more and more.

He coated the brush with toothpaste before handing it to her, "Here, why don't you brush? I know skipping for one night won't hurt, and I've got a feeling that your mouth is going to taste pretty awful in the morning no matter what, but you might as well since you're still awake."

Mary agreed silently, pivoting towards the sink at her right, and Matthew watched her set about cleaning her mouth.

She was starting to lose the battle against the chemicals in her blood, her motor capabilities becoming delayed and then stalling altogether. The craw of the brush was painfully slow across her teeth, her body swaying against an unseen force, her eyelids closing to the rhythm of her strokes.

She spat in the sink and then turned back to him and Matthew, seeing the unfocused, dizzy look in her eyes, knew she would fall asleep at any moment.

Her speech matched her sluggish movements, "I'm done."

A thin film of toothpaste covered the sides of her mouth and made a small, milky trail off of her lower lip, falling over her chin.

Matthew grabbed a washcloth, stepped in front of her, and turned the lever on the left side of the sink. As he waited for the water to warm, he was acutely aware of Mary's eyes on him, the alcohol in her system having removed all of the shame from her stare. She gazed at him boldly, openly, making the foot of space in-between them feel like only a few inches.

Her whisper stirred the air, "I'm so glad we've become friends."

He met her eyes, his smile bashful, "Me too."

She continued, her head swaying slightly from side to side, "You mean so much to me."

The world paused and settled deeper into time, her simple remark cradling him sweetly.

She overcame the alcohol tripping her tongue and continued speaking, "Do you…Do you realize that?… Do you realize how much you and Quinn mean to me?"

The drink within her was removing the filter from her mouth, letting her speak freely without care. And Matthew was enchanted by her honesty, her words casting a spell, unchaining his heart.

Matthew's voice was hushed, cracking with his amazement, "I…I did not."

"It'll be very hard for me to leave you."

The weight of her words cut him deepest in the places she could not see and as Matthew raised the warm cloth to her red lips, whipping away the mint-scented film, he heard himself speak the words shouting in his mind.

"It'll be very hard for me to let you go."

Matthew continued to caress her face, the moist cloth the excuse to maintain their contact. He wiped away the black smudges of her makeup, he cleaned the unseen sweat from her brow, he removed the bits of the city clinging to her cheeks, leaving her skin the texture of finely knitted cashmere, a devastating softness he tested with the back of his fingers.

Was it the alcohol making her lean into his touch? Did the drug cause her to release such a heavy sigh? Was it the fumes in her blood, which made the color rush to her cheeks, her flesh turning the color of his desire?

"Is it still my birthday, Matthew?"

It wasn't.

"It is."

"Then, can still ask for something?"

His heart swelled in his chest, spreading to every corner of his body so that he felt it in his shaking knees, knew it in his struggling lungs, tasted it on his dry tongue, heard it in his strained ears.

Matthew's answer came without voice, so he spoke it again, "Yes."

And Mary's lips moved beneath her heavy eyes, "I want you to kiss me."

He was dreaming, he must be dreaming.

He'll remember the world's beauty at that moment. He'll remember how the night- sky outside of his window looked like crushed velvet. He'll recall the coolness of the marble beneath his hands and the way it refused to take his warmth as he moved in closer. He'll remember the white fireworks in her eyes, dancing and exploding with her every blink as she repeated her request.

"Kiss me, Matthew."

He did not spare a moment's thought, the siren's call of her behest over-powering him, turning his will to dust.

"Kiss me."

Her exhale caressed his lips, and as Matthew looked up into the eyes of the woman he loved, wanting to know the exact color her eyes would take as their lips finally met, Mary lost her balance and nearly fell to the floor, Matthew catching her by the shoulders at the last moment.

And he'll remember the world's cruelty at that moment. He'll remember how the black-night swallowed his happiness. He'll recall the bitterness of the room and how her breath smelled of mint and drink. He'll remember her vacant, glazed-over eyes, the slurring of her words forever a reminder of her intoxication, the alternation of her mind, which, alone, had brought about her request of him.

Matthew steadied her and then moved slightly away, needing the distance, but not daring to leave her unattended.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't respond; he only buried his face deeper into his shaking hands.

"Matthew…", The alcohol had made her shameless, and she repeated herself , "…I asked you to kiss me."

"You don't know what you're saying, Mary."

"Yes, I do."

His rebuttal was swift, "You're drunk."

Hers was delayed, "…So?...Kiss me."

"You don't mean it."

"Yes I do!" Mary was shouting now, her voice echoing off of the tile and the marble, and Matthew forced himself to look at her.

The room was plunged into a heavy silence as she slowly gathered her thoughts, "I know what I'm saying, Matthew… and I mean what I say."

After all of this time, living this delicate push and pull day after day for months on end, the bluntness of Mary's request was startling, her honesty shocking. Matthew had been sure that it was only the drink behind her words, but now he was starting to doubt. It's said that drunk words are sober thoughts, therefore, could it be that drunken requests are also sober wishes?

Had he not been listening to her body earlier as they danced? Had he not heard what her arms, what her hips, had said?

But Matthew remained silent, the movements of his shaking head making no sound.

Mary's voice was stronger, steadier, and Matthew thought that her eyes seemed less obscured, brighter.

"Kiss me, Matthew…Because I _want_ you to… Just like I've wanted you to kiss me _everyday_, since the first day we met."

The meaning of her words would truly settle into him later, carving up his skin, shredding his muscles, prying open his ribs, and infesting the tissue of his heart, but now, feeling the crater of distance between them, Matthew only knew the cruelty of her confession.

He only knew the burden of what could not yet be.

"Stop."

"Kiss me, Matthew."

He covered his ears with his trembling hands, "Please. This isn't fair, Mary."

"Kiss me!"

"Stop, please."

She was bemused, "Why?"

And Matthew found his courage, the strength to deny the one he loved.

"Because this is too important!" He shouted back at her, "Because it'll be cheap and stolen! Because I told you that I wouldn't let you do something foolish! Because it would be tainted with alcohol!… And because you won't remember it…"

Matthew paused and steadied himself. His heavy breathing filled the air before he lowered his voice to a rough whisper, "…and I could not bear to have you forget something that I will treasure for the rest of my existence."

Mary's eyes were unfocused in her silence but Matthew had found his courage and he moved towards her as he continued to speak, his hushed tongue stroking the air.

"And furthermore, you're too important to be simplified and boxed into a single moment in time. You're too crucial to my existence, the cast around my once broken-heart, and I can't risk losing you…" Matthew found himself counting the trembles besieging her mouth, "…not even for the chance to kiss your lips."

He came to stand in front of her, matching his breathing to the sound of her un-blinking eyes.

Matthew continued speaking freely, trusting the density of the vapors covering her eyes, understanding that the alcohol would wash away his words from her memory, but needing, after all of this time, to say them aloud.

"You're the definition of beauty, the fodder for poetry…the foundation of what everyone feels in their chest when they say that something is 'lovely'."

Carefully, Matthew reached out and took her hand, his body trembling at the recognition of her touch, the magnetism of his blood reacting to the polarization in hers.

His voice remained soft, steady, and he spoke to her fingertips, "I want to learn what forever means, Mary,…but only if you are the one to teach me."

Matthew grew quiet, and after a taking a moment to breathe, he dared himself to look at her.

And, just as he expected, Matthew was alone in the room, the form of the woman he loved only a placeholder for her intoxicated mind.

The echo of his confessions to her still hung in the air but Mary's glazed-over eyes could see no traces of it, and Matthew watched in slow motion as the truth of his affections fell to the ground at her feet, the conviction of his words making no dent against her amour of drunkenness.

With a final effort, Mary spoke, "I think I'd like to go to sleep now."

And as she swayed, Matthew catching her as she finally lost the battle against sleep, he knew that the chemicals within her would burn his words away from her mind and there would be no trace of them when she woke.

Matthew gathered up her lifeless body and strode across the room, carrying her in the way that a groom carries his bride, before gingerly placing her in the center of the plush bed.

He returned to the bathroom filled two glasses of water and searched for a bottle of aspirin. He helped himself to a dosage of the pills and drained both of the glasses, knowing that hydration would be his best weapon against the unavoidable headache. He portioned out another dose and filled the glasses once more before returning to the room where Mary lay sleeping, placing his gifts to her on the bedside table.

He retrieved the wastebasket by the bookshelf and a blanket from the closet. The basket he placed on the floor beside the water and the blanket he unfolded and casted lightly across her unconscious body.

With nothing else left to do, Matthew gazed down at her for a moment longer. Mary's body was confused, the outline of her legs and arms beneath the soft blanket jutting out and resting at awkward angles, but her face was serene; her brow as smooth as undisturbed water, her eye-lids as delicate as flower petals, her lips lose and pouting with her unconsciousness.

And Matthew found himself wishing many things at that moment.

He wished she truly did enjoy herself tonight. He wished she could sleep through most of the sickness that would soon find her. He wished he could be apart of all of her future birthdays, if only for the excuse to give her things. He wished she would forget everything that he had said, and, yet, he also wished that she would remember.

Matthew was suddenly aware of his weariness, of his extreme fatigue. He was tired and not from the early hour, but from this song, this endless dance. How long could they continue like this? How long could they fake smiles and elude emotions? How long could they lie to one another, especially after a night like tonight when it was so clear that they each desired more? For her it may only be a kiss, but for him it was a lifetime.

Though Matthew would show the sands of time the meaning of patience if Mary asked him to, he knew that he was cracking.

Matthew turned and looked out the darkened window. Soon the sun would be making its slow appearance in the east, so Matthew took is last fill of her before turning and slowly walking towards the door.

"Matthew…"

He turned quickly, stunned that she had spoke.

Mary's eyes were still closed, her mind suspended in the delicate place between waking and dreaming, her voice husky with fatigue, "…you should have kissed me…who knows how long it'll be before I ask you to again."

And with that Mary's breathing grew deeper, her inspirations becoming the same measure as her expirations, the Sandman successful in dragging her into the darkness of sleep.

Matthew smiled and continued walking. Once he reached the door, he placed his hand on the knob and turned, speaking to the sleeping woman.

"No…I was right not to kiss you…"

Mary did not stir and Matthew wondered if he ever appeared in the filaments of her dreams as he made his final whisper to the night.

"…I love you too much for that."

And the sound of the closing door matched the echo of the quickly beating heart that belonged to the woman who had heard his words through the haze of alcohol.

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**And there you have it.**

**Again, I would like to apologize for any errors. I want to correct them, but my eyes just stop seeing them. **

**This chapter was VERY Matthew and Mary heavy, which was fun but very daunting. I try to make their interactions special and vivid and it was a challenge to maintain that heightened sensuality throughout the entire chapter. **

**Drunk Mary may or may not be (but probably is) based off of the writer of the story…**

…**Hey! What can I say? I'm a hell of a time and my husband reminds me that I do these things.**

**This story does have an end in sight but I've still have some bits to write before it comes to a close.**

**The next chapter will be from Mary's POV and we'll learn whether or not she heard/remembered Matthew's "I love you". The chapter will also feature a fight between the two because it's impossible for two people to harbor such hidden passions and for it to NOT come to a head. But the question will be, whether or not their argument brings them closer together or further apart.**

**I want to thank you all for your amazing support. Just last week this story reached over 200 reviews (nearly all of them positive/constructive), which, to me, is just mind-blowing. NEVER did I think that this story would be so well received and I'm so humbled by your generosity and praise. **

**And when it comes to what happens with Mary and Matthew in cannon, all I have to say is…**

**Just keep writing…Just keep writing…just keep writing.**

**Thanks again. Love and Cheers.**

**RighterB out.**


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